with such perfect grace and poise!

The road swung to the east, ascending in long spirals. Then through the
trees I caught the glimmer of water--the Bronx River--and beyond I saw
a stubble-field all rosy in the first rays of the rising sun.

The ascent was steeper now. Our horses slackened to a canter, to a
trot, then to a walk as the road rose upward, set with boulders and
loose stones.

I had just turned to caution my companion, and was pointing ahead to a
deep washout which left but a narrow path between two jutting boulders,
when, without the slightest sound, from the shadow of these same rocks
sprang two men, long brown rifles leveled. And in silence we drew
bridle at the voiceless order from the muzzles of those twin barrels
bearing upon us without a tremor.

[Illustration: From the shadow ... sprang two men, long brown rifles
leveled.]

An instant of suspense; the rifle of the shorter fellow swept from
Elsin Grey to me; and I, menaced by both weapons, sat on my heavily
breathing horse, whose wise head and questioning ears reconnoitered
these strange people who checked us at the rocky summit of the hill.
For they were strange, silent folk, clothed in doeskin from neck to
ankle, and alike as two peas in their caped hunting-shirts, belted in
with scarlet wampum, and the fringe falling in soft cascades from
shoulder to cuff, from hip to ankle, following the laced seams.

My roan had become nervous, shaking his head and backing, and Elsin's
restive mare began sidling across their line of fire.

"Rein in, madam!" came a warning voice--"and you, sir! Stand fast
there! Now, young man, from which party do you come?"

"From the lower," I answered cheerfully, "and happy to be clear of
them."

"And with which party do you foregather, my gay cock o' the woods?"

"With the upper party, friend."

"Friend!" sneered the taller fellow, lowering his rifle and casting it
into the hollow of his left arm. "It strikes me that you are somewhat
sudden with your affections--" He came sauntering forward, a giant in
his soft, clinging buckskins, talking all the while in an irritable
voice: "Friend? Maybe, and maybe not," he grumbled; "all eggs don't
hatch into dickey-birds, nor do all rattlers beat the long roll." He
laid a sudden hand on my bridle, looking up at me with swaggering
impudence, which instantly changed into amazed recognition.

"Gad-a-mercy!" he cried, delighted; "is it you, Mr. Renault?"

"It surely is," I sai