him in that row of cells reserved for those whose
lives are forfeit to the law, it is doubtful whether that masklike
inexpressiveness truly mirrored an inward phlegm.

There was an electric lamp fixed against the iron bars of the death
corridor, turned inward like a spot-light of shame which was never
dimmed either day or night--and there was a warden who paced the place,
never leaving him unwatched--and Kinnard Towers had lived in places
where eagles breed and where the air is wild and bites the lungs with
its tang of freedom.

* * * * *

It was June again--June full-bosomed and tuneful with the over-spilling
melody of birds. Over the tall peaks arched a sky of such a pure and
colorful blue that it, too, seemed to sing--and the little clouds that
drifted placidly along were like the lazy sails of pleasure craft,
floating in high currents. Along the dimmest and most distant ridges
lay a violet mist that was all ash-of-dreams--but near at hand, whether
on the upper levels of high hills or down in the shadowed recesses,
where the small waters trickled, everything was color--color, bloom and
song.

The rhododendron, which the mountaineer calls laurel, was abloom. The
laurel, which is known in hill parlance as ivy, was gay with
pink-hearted blossom. The mountain magnolia flaunted its great petals
of waxen while and the wild rose nodded its frail face everywhere.

But these were details. Over the silver tinkle of happy little brooks
was the low but infinite harping of the breeze, and over the glint of
golden flecks on mossy rock, was the sweep of sunlight and shadow
across the majesty of towering peaks and the league-wide spread of
valleys.

The hills were all singing of summer and rebirth, but as Bear Cat Stacy
went riding across them his eyes were brooding with the thought of
dreams that had not come true.

Many of them had come true, he told himself, in their larger
aspects--even though he found himself miserably unsatisfied. There was
a large reward in the manner of men and women who paused in their tasks
of "drappin' an' kiverin'" along the sloping cornfields to wave their
hats or their hands at him and to shout cheery words.

Those simple folk looked upon him as one who had led them out of
bondage to a wider freedom, instilling into them a spirit of
enterprise.

One farmer halted his plow and came to the fence as Bear Cat was riding
by.

"I heers tell," he began, "