ander
where he could find "Marse" Frank Layson.

The man of whom he asked the question had not the least idea, nor had
anyone about the railroad working. Most of the men had never heard of
Layson, and the few who had become acquainted with him through chance
meetings since he had been stopping in his cabin in the mountains, knew
most indefinitely where the place was located. Lorey could have quickly
given the information, but had no thought of doing so. He stood,
instead, staring at the party with wondering but not good-natured eyes,
and said no word. He certainly was not the one to do a favor to his
rival or his rival's friends.

The group of strangers were thrown into confusion by the difficulty of
getting news of him they sought, and, while they discussed the matter,
Lorey had a chance to study them. He stood upon the rough plank
platform, leaning on his rifle, with the game-bag and its burden of
purloined explosive hanging slouchily beneath one arm, his coon-skin cap
down well upon his eyes, those eyes, half closed, gazing at the
newcomers with all the curiosity which they would have shown at sight of
savages from some far foreign shore.

He was not the only one about the temporary railroad station who eyed
the group with curiosity and interest. Two of the travellers were ladies
from the bluegrass and scarcely one of all the natives lingering about
the workings had ever seen a lady from the bluegrass, while, to the
young surveyors and the group of civil engineers who had, for months,
been exiled by their work among the mountains from all association with
such lovely creatures, it was a joy to stand apart and covertly gaze at
them. Many a young fellow, months away from home, who had grasped the
newspapers and letters which had come in with the other mail with eager
fingers, anxious to devour their contents, had, after the two ladies had
descended from the train, almost forgotten his anxiety to get the news
from home, and stood there, now, with opened letters in his hands,
unread.

The ladies were very worthy of attention, too. Miss Alathea Layson, the
elder of the two, was slight, beautifully groomed despite the long and
dirty trip on rough cars over the crude road-bed of a newly graded
railway. A woman whose thirtieth birthday had been left behind some
years before, she still had all the brightness and vivacity of the
twenties in her carriage and her manner. Her voice, as it drifted to the
young moonshiner, was