obleeged
ter go, but I raised my voice in song as I fared along amongst them
thickets, lest some man thet I couldn't see; some man a-layin' on
watch, mout suspicion I was seekin' ter discover somethin' he aimed ter
keep hid--jest as ye suspicioned Mr. Henderson, hyar."

Lone Stacy stroked his beard.

"I reckon thet war ther wisest way, Brother Fulkerson, unless every man
over thar knowed ye."

"I reckon God likes ther songs of his birds better," declared the
preacher, "then ther song of a man thet _hes_ ter sing ter protect his
own life. I reckon no country won't ever prosper mightily, whilst hit's
a land of hidin' out with rifle-guns in ther laurel."

There was no wrath in the eyes of the host as he listened to his
guest's indictment or the voice of thrilling earnestness in which it
was delivered. He only raised one hand and pointed upward where a
mighty shoulder of mountain rose hulking through the twilight. Near its
top one could just make out the thread-like whiteness of a new fence
line.

"Yonder's my corn patch," he said. "When I cl'ared hit an' grubbed hit
out my neighbors all came ter ther workin' an' amongst us we toiled
thar from sun-up twell one o'clock at night--daylight an' moonlight. On
thet patch I kin raise me two or three master crops o' corn an' atter
_thet_ hit won't hardly raise rag weeds! A bushel o' thet corn, sledded
over ter ther nighest store fotches in mebby forty cents. But thar's
two gallons of licker in hit an' _thet's_ wuth money. Who's a-goin' ter
deny me ther rightful license ter do hit?"

"Ther Law denies ye," replied the preacher gravely, but without
acerbity.

"Thar's things thet's erginst ther law," announced the old man with a
swift gathering of fierceness in his tone, "an' thar's things thet's
_above_ ther law. A criminal is a man thet's done befouled his own
self-respect. I hain't never done thet an' I hain't no criminal. What
do _you_ think, Mr. Henderson?"

Henderson had no wish to be drawn, so soon, into any conflict of local
opinion, yet he realized that a candid reply was expected.

"My opinion is that of theory only," he responded seriously. "But I
agree with Brother Fulkerson. A community with secrets to hide is a
hermit community--and one of the strangers that is frightened away--is
Prosperity."

Bear Cat Stacy, brooding silently in his place, looked suddenly up.
Hitherto he had seen only the sweet wistfulness of Blossom's eyes. Now
he remembered the words of