gave him more concern than the knowledge that he was a
prisoner in the hands of desperate men, who, if their word could be
believed, proposed to do desperate things to him.

All but two of the mountaineers soon left the scene, and these two took
turns in sleeping and guarding their prisoner. Along towards morning
Hippy fell into an uneasy sleep, but his sleep was brief. He was roughly
yanked to his feet, and, at the point of a rifle, driven deeper into the
forest. His guards did not halt until daybreak. They then untied the
prisoner's arms, bound his feet, and placing him in a sitting position,
back against a tree, passed a rope around his waist and tied him to the
tree.

"You forgot something," reminded Hippy as they started to walk away.

"Huh?" demanded one of the mountaineers.

"You forgot to tie the tree down. It might run away, you know."

A grunt was the only reply he got. The men then built a small fire and
began preparing their breakfast. Bacon and coffee was their meal, and
Hippy Wingate, now without his blindfold, was forced to sit there and
watch them eat. It was the most unhappy hour that he remembered ever to
have experienced.

After finishing their own breakfast they favored him with a cup of
water, and, lighting their pipes, sat down to talk, much of which the
listening ears of their captive overheard.

As nearly as Hippy could make it out a mountain feud was in the making,
and the twenty-third of the month was the time set for the opening. He
heard the names "Bat Spurgeon" and "Jed Thompson" mentioned, but they
conveyed nothing to him beyond the mere names. The voices of his captors
and his own weariness finally lulled Lieutenant Wingate to sleep, and he
slept for hours. He was awakened late in the day by being roughly shaken
and a cup of water thrust into his hands.

"I thank you for this bounteous repast," said Hippy mockingly. "Is this
the water cure you are giving me?"

"Oh, shut up!" growled the mountaineer, and went away leaving Hippy
gazing after him, a sardonic grin on the Overland Rider's face.

Hippy was aching all over his body as darkness settled over the forest,
marking the second night of his captivity. With it came the cook fire
and again the agonizing odors of coffee and bacon. With it, too, came
something else--a low, guarded voice behind him and, seemingly, only a
few inches from his ear.

"Don't make a sound, Lieutenant."

"Who are you?" demanded Hippy, without in the le