riously. "Then Henderson come back from down below
an' some fellers aimed ter lay-way him, so he sought refuge in Brother
Fulkerson's dwellin'-house when ther preacher warn't thar. Blossom tuck
him in outen charity an' the two of 'em spent ther night thar all alone
by tharselves. Hit didn't become gin'rally known till after he'd got
away safe, but then ther gossips started in tongue-waggin'."

"Hold on, Lew! By God Almighty, ye've done said too much," Bear Cat
broke out with a dangerous note of warning, his eyes narrowing into
slits of menacing glitter.

The man from home hastily hedged his statement. "Hit warn't no fashion
Blossom's fault. He'd done faithfully promised ter wed with her."

Bear Cat Stacy had risen eruptively out of his chair. He bent over the
intervening table, resting on hands in which the knuckles stood out
white. "Go on!" he commanded fiercely. "What next?"

"Thet's erbout all, save thet since thet time she's done been pinin'
round like somebody sickenin' ter her death. Es fer ther preacher, he
just clamps his mouth shet an' won't say nothin' at all. Howsoever, he
looks like he'd done been stricken."

Bear Cat straightened up and passed a hand across his forehead. He was
rocking unsteadily on his feet as he reached for his hat.

"Whar air ye a-goin', Bear Cat?" asked the kinsman, with a sudden fear
for the consequences of his narrative.

"Whar am I 'goin'? God, He knows! Wharever Jerry Henderson's at,
_thar's_ whar I'm 'goin'--an' no man hed better seek ter hinder me!"

CHAPTER XIV

The post-office at Possum Trot, which serves the dwellers along the
waters of Skinflint, is housed in one corner of a shack store and the
distribution of its mail is attended with a friendly informality.

Thus no suspicion was engendered when a neighbor of Joe Stacy's dropped
in each day and regularly volunteered, with a spirit of neighborly
accommodation, "I reckon ef thar's anything fer Joe Stacy or airy other
folks dwellin' 'twixt hyar an' my house, I'll fotch hit over to 'em."

The post-master had no way of knowing that this person was an agent of
Kinnard Towers or that, when one day he handed out a letter "backed" to
Joe in the scrawl of Lone Stacy, it went not to its rightful recipient
but to the Quarterhouse.

Jerry Henderson, in due time, stepped from his day coach at Marlin
Town, equally innocent of suspicion, and was pleased to see emerging
from the raw, twilight shadows, a man, unfamiliar o