rush and
screened behind a fallen hemlock top, where the Stacy still lay hidden.

At last he was there, with every muscle proclaiming its location by the
outcry of sore tissues, and ahead of him lay the task of watching and
feeding the fire under the mash kettle until dawn.

"Ye kin lay down when ye're ready, Lee," he said shortly to the
stockily built man whom he was relieving from duty there. "I'll keep
ther fire goin' an' call ye round about dawn."

Taking up the rifle to which he had fallen heir, as picket, he made his
way from the sentinel's shelter to the still-house itself, stooping
low, so that the waning fire might not throw his figure or face into
relief. He piled a handful of wood under the kettle and crawled back
into the timber.

The heavens were full of stars now: not the small light-points of skies
arching over lowlands, but the gorgeous, great stars of the walled
highlands.

His mother had done this sort of work to keep him alive, while his
father was in prison! If he went on doing it, and if Blossom married
him, they faced a future of the same drab decay! At the thought of that
prospect he ground his chattering teeth and cursed under his breath.

The dull glow of the fire on a tin bucket and cup held his eyes with a
spell of fascination. It was white liquor, raw, sweetish and freshly
brewed. A gleam of craving flashed into his eyes: a craving that had
come down through generations of grandsires--even though his own father
had escaped it. Turner put out one hand, trembling with anticipation.

Here was warmth! Here was to be had for the taking a glow about the
heart and a quickened current in the veins. Here was the stuff from
which ease and waking dreams would come; release from his aching chill
and dulness of spirit!

Bear Cat's eyes burned thirstily. He seemed only a vessel of flesh
overflowing with craving--with a torture of craving--an utter hell of
craving! Then he drew back the eagerly extended hand.

"No," he said grimly. "Blossom air right. Ther stuff'll ruin me."

Resolutely he turned his back and stood facing the woods, listening to
the drip of drenched leafage. Through raw hours he struggled with his
appetite. Each time that he went back to throw fresh faggots on the
fire he moved warily around the bucket, seeking to keep his eyes
averted, but each time his gaze came back to it, and rested there
thirstily.

Twice as his watch drew near its end he dipped the cup into the pail
only