ain. She is afraid of accidents."
He turned and shouted into her deaf ear, "Mother, Mr. Deprayne here has
crossed the ocean. He's been to the Holy Land."

The old woman lifted her wrinkled eyes and gazed at me, in wonderment.

"Well, Prov-i-_dence_!" she exclaimed. It was her single contribution to
the evening's conversation.

Once a dog barked, and with silent promptness two or three of the
younger men melted out into the night to reconnoiter.

The visitor proved to be only a neighbor seeking to borrow some farm
implement and he announced himself from afar with proper assurance that
he came as a friend. We heard his voice drawing nearer and shouting:
"It's me. I'm a-comin' in."

I was for the most part a listener, offering few contributions to the
talk. I was thinking of other matters, but before the evening came to an
end I had heard, in plain unvarnished recital, stories which began to
make the spirit of the vendetta comprehensible. I spoke of Curt Dawson
and asked our host for a biography. The mountain lawyer's rugged face
grew dark with feeling.

"I have twice prosecuted him," he said bitterly. "And in the chain of
evidence I wove around him there was no weak link, but a conviction
would have been a personal defiance of Garvin. That required courage.
Each time the foreman of the panel came in with perjury on his lips and
reported 'not guilty.'" He paused and then went on. "When Keithley fell
in the court-house yard, and while the rifle smoke was still curling
from a jury-room window, I rushed into the place and I found this boy
there. He was wiping gun grease from his hands, and he testified that he
had heard the shot while passing and had come in to detect the assassin.
Of course, he was the murderer. He has other crimes of the same type to
his damnable discredit. He is Garvin's principal gun-fighter. Garvin has
never fired a shot in accomplishment of his crimes. His men have all
been slain by proxy. Curt Dawson has become so notorious that of late
Garvin has kept him as much as possible out of sight. I am a little
surprised that he mentioned Dawson's name to you. He has of late rather
pursued the policy of holding ostensibly aloof, and he might have
inferred that you would repeat the circumstances to me." Marcus rose and
paced the cabin floor for a few turns, then came back and took his seat
once more in the circle about the fire.

"You mean," suggested Weighborne, "that the implication of Dawson was
comi