rsuit and gone often to
earth. The only things they needed with which to harry him further were
bloodhounds.

Now in the later afternoon he came to the cabin and sought a few
minutes' shelter there against the penetrating misery of rain and
sloppy snow that thawed as it fell. He dared not light a fire, and must
not relax the vigilance of his outlook.

Just before sunset Bear Cat saw a man edging cautiously through the
timber, moving with a shadowy furtiveness--and recognized Joe Sanders.

The newcomer slipped through the rotting lintels, bringing a face
stamped with foreboding.

"Ye kain't stay hyar," announced the excited voice. "I don't hardly
know whar ye _kin_ go to nuther, onlessen' ye kin make hit back ter Dog
Tate's dwellin'-house by ther hill-trail."

"Tell me all ye knows, Joe," directed Stacy with a steadying calmness,
and the other went on hurriedly:

"They've done picked up yore trail--an' lost hit ergin--a couple of
miles back. They 'lows ye hain't fur off, an' thar's two score of 'em
out huntin'--all licker-crazed but yit not disabled none. Some of 'em
'lows ter come by hyar. I'm with a bunch thet's travelin' a diff'rent
route. They're spreadin' out like a turkey gobbler's tail feathers an'
combin' this territory plumb close. Above all don't go to'rds home.
Hit's thet way thet they's most numerous of all. I surmised I'd find ye
hyar an' I slipped by ter warn ye."

"I'm obleeged ter ye, Joe. What's thet ye've got thar?" The last
question was prompted by the gesture with which Saunders, as if in
afterthought, thrust his hand into his coat pocket.

"Hit hain't nuthin' but a letter Brother Fulkerson bid me give ter
ye--but thar hain't no time ter read hand-write now. Every minute's
wuth countless letters."

But Turner Stacy was ripping the envelope. Already he had recognized
the clear, precise hand which had been the fruit of Blossom's arduous
efforts at self-education.

"Don't tarry, man! I cautions ye they're already makin' ready ter
celebrate yore murder," expostulated the messenger, but Bear Cat did
not seem to hear him. In the fading light he was reading and rereading,
forgetful of all else. Joe Sanders, fixing him with a keen and
impatient scrutiny, noticed how gaunt were his cheeks and how
hollow-socketed his eyes. Yet as he began the letter there was a sudden
and eager hopefulness in his face which faded into misery as he
finished.

"A famed doctor came up from Louisville," wrote Blossom