venged his
indignities--but for the moment he was inoffensive.

At the place where the gray horse had been tethered, Turner lashed the
rider. Above his head to an over-arching sycamore branch, he swung a
maltreated coil of copper tubing. Then he turned, somewhat wearied and
aching of muscle, into the timber again.

"I reckon now," he said to himself, "I kin go over thar an' lay down."

CHAPTER XXI

Three times along the way, as the new crusader trudged on to Dog Tate's
cabin, the late-setting moon glinted on queerly twisted things
suspended from road-side trees--things unlike the fruit of either
hickory or poplar.

A grim satisfaction enlivened his tired eyes, but it lingered only for
a moment. Before them rose the picture of a girl sitting stricken by a
bedside, and his brows contracted painfully with the memory.

From the window of Tate's cabin came a faint gleam of light, and, as he
drew cautiously near, a figure rose wearily from the dark doorstep.

"I've been settin' up fer ye," announced Dog. "I mistrusted ye'd done
met with mishap."

Inside the cabin crowded with sleeping and snoring figures, the host
pointed to a loft under the shingles. "Ye'll hev ter bed in up thar,"
he said. "Don't come down ter-morrer twell I gives ye ther word. Right
likely thar'll be folks abroad sarchin' fer ye. Me an' Joe aims ter
blackguard ye no end fer bustin' up our still."

"Thet's what I 'lowed ter caution ye ter do," acquiesced Turner. "All
I'm askin' now air a few hours of slumber."

He climbed the ladder with heavy limbs, and, falling on the floor among
its litter of household effects, was instantly asleep.

* * * * *

It was the habit of Kinnard Towers to rise early, even for a people of
early risers, and on this morning he followed his customary routine.
Last night he had slept restlessly because the events of the day had
been stressful and uncertain, even if, in their summary, there had been
an element of satisfaction.

So Kinnard pulled on his trousers and boots, still thinking of
yesterday, and crossed the hall to the room where Black Tom Carmichael
slept.

Black Tom's bed had not been disturbed, and his door swung open. Towers
roused two other members of his household and the three went out into
the first mists of dawn to investigate. At the hitching-rack they
halted in dismay and their jaws sagged.

The light was yet dim and ghostly, and at first the body