rnished light, yet with a dusky, diminished beauty that
held a sort of mild pathos. Great timbered slopes, inky black in this
illumination, fell away on every hand down to where the mists lay
death-white in the valley; behind them was a low, irregular bulk of
brush-grown rock; and all about the whirr of katydids, a million voices
blended into one. From a nearby thicket came to them the click and liquid
gurgle, "Chip-out-o'-white-oak!" It sent Creed's heart and fancy questing
back to the past hour with the girl on the doorstone. What would he have
asked, she answered, if Blatch had not interrupted them? He scarcely heard
the wavering cry of a screech-owl that followed hard upon the
remembered notes. Stribling, however, noted the latter promptly, and
began edging toward the shadow as his companion spoke.

"This is mighty sightly," said Creed, looking about him musingly; "I do
love a moonshiny night."

For a moment there was only the noise of the katydids, backgrounded and
enfolded by the deep silence of the great mountains. Then someone broke
out into what was evidently a forced laugh, a long-drawn, girding,
mirthless haw-haw, the laboured insult of which stung Creed into a
certain resentment of demeanour.

"What's the joke?" he inquired dryly, turning toward Taylor Stribling.
But Stribling had silently melted away among the shadows of distant trees
along the trail. It was Blatchley Turrentine who stood before him
thrusting forward a jeering face in the uncertain half light, while three
vaguely defined forms moved and shouldered behind him. The apparition was
sinister, but if Blatch looked for demonstrations of fear he was
disappointed.

"What's the joke?" Creed repeated.

"I couldn't hold in when I heared your pretty talk," drawled Blatch,
setting his hands on his hips and barring the way. "Whar might you be
a-goin', Mr. Creed Bonbright?"

"Home," returned Creed briefly. "Get out of my road, and I'll be obliged
to you."

"Yo' road--_yo'_ road!" echoed Blatch. "Well, young feller, besides this
here road runnin' acrosst the south eend o' the property that I've rented
on a five-year lease, ef so be that yo're a-goin' to Nancy Cyard's house
this is a mighty curious direction for you to be travellin' in."

"I was told it was a short cut," said Bonbright controlling his temper. A
man who was justice of the peace, going home to get ready to try a case
on the morrow, must not embroil himself.

"Good Lord!" scoffed Bla