and foes of Burke Lawson
were holding themselves in check until he returned to his old haunts;
then there would be considerable shooting--not necessarily fatal, a
midnight raid or two, a general rumpus, and eventually, a truce.

All this Jim White knew, and it was the propelling factor that had sent
him to the deep woods. His sentiments conflicted with duty. Guilty as
Lawson was, the sheriff liked him better than he did Martin and he
meant, should he come across Burke in "the sticks," to take him off for
a bear hunt and some good advice. Thus he would justify his conscience
and legal duties. But White, strange to say, was as ignorant as Truedale
was of an element that had entered into conditions. It had never
occurred to Jim to announce or explain his visitor's arrival. To Pine
Cone a "furriner" aroused at best but a superficial interest and, since
Truedale had arrived, unseen, at night, why mention him to a community
that could not possibly have anything in common with him? So it was
that Greyson and a few others, noting Truedale at a distance and losing
sight of him at once, concluded that he was Burke, back and in hiding;
and a growing but stealthy excitement was in the air. He was supposed by
both factions to be with the sheriff, and feeling ran high. In the final
estimate, could White have known it, he himself held no small part!

Beloved and hated, Lawson divided the community for and against himself
about equally. There were those who defended and swore they would kill
any who harmed the young outlaw--he was of the jovial, dare-devil type
and as loyal to his friends as he was unyielding to his foes. Others
declared that the desperado must be "finished"; the trap disagreement
was but the last of a long list of crimes; it was time to put a quietus
on one who refused to fall into line--who called the sheriff his friend
and had been known to hobnob with revenue men! That, perhaps, was the
blackest deed to be attributed to any native.

So all Pine Cone was on the war path and Truedale, heedless and unaware,
took his air and exercise at his peril.

The men of the hills had a clear case now, since Peter Greyson had given
his evidence, which, by the way, became more conclusive hour by hour as
imagination, intoxication, and the delight of finding himself important,
grew upon Greyson.

"Jim told me," Peter had confided to Jed Martin, "that he was going to
get a posse from way-back and round Lawson up."

This was whol