hreshold.

"Alight and come in, stranger. I have good beds."

"We are obliged to you, landlord," said Burr from the saddle, "but we
can't stop. We hailed the house only to inquire the way to Colonel
Hinson's. How far is it?"

"A long seven miles, and all that isn't stump is mud hole. Better put
up here till morning. A bite of pork and pone, washed down with a cup
of hot coffee, will make a new man of you."

"Thank you, my friend, but we are in some hurry. What direction shall
we take?" The tavern-keeper gave the desired information, with tedious
minuteness. Meanwhile the party at the fireside took sharp notice of
the man on horseback, whom they could plainly see in the outshining
light of the fire. A tall gentleman, whom the host called "colonel,"
inspected the strangers with comprehensive scrutiny.

"Neighbors," said he, listening to the receding hoof-beats of the
horses, "did you notice that man's face and his feet? He don't look
like a common man. Our backwoodsmen don't wear shiny boots." Leaving
his companions mystified by this speech, the colonel hurried from the
inn, and bent his steps toward a cabin, from the single small window
of which a lard-lamp levelled its faint ray. This was the lodge of the
district sheriff. The tall colonel called the officer out and
described the appearance and actions of the two travellers.

"Brightwell, I have my suspicions. Hadn't we better go--you and
I--to Hinson's, and learn who these parties are and what they want? I
doubt if your cousin, Mrs. Hinson, knows that her husband sympathizes
with a certain individual who falls under the charges of Jefferson's
proclamation."

Colonel Perkins easily persuaded the sheriff it was their duty to
follow the suspected persons, and the self-constituted spies saddled
horses and spurred through the woods, along a solitary road, to
Hinson's lonely cottage. Perkins remained outside, holding the horses
and shivering under the gusty pines. The sheriff knocked at the back
door of the cabin; the mistress of the house received him kinswomanly
in the kitchen. From this rear apartment Brightwell could peep into
the front room, where sat the object of his curiosity. Having
exchanged a few familiar remarks and inquiries with Mrs. Hinson, the
sheriff asked, in a whisper:

"Who is that man--the small man with black eyes and white hands?"

"He calls himself Hodge--Jeremiah Hodge--and claims acquaintance
with my husband. He says he came by request to