and Grace had just headed her mount towards the stream when
she brought him up with a sharp tug on the bridle-rein.

Just ahead of her stood a tall, gaunt mountaineer leaning on his rifle.
The expression on his face was not one of welcome, but Grace Harlowe saw
fit to ignore that.

"Howdy, stranger," she greeted, smiling down at the man.

"Howdy," grunted the man, as they regarded each other appraisingly.

"Where do ye-all reckon yer goin'?" he demanded gruffly.

"Is this Spring Brook?" interjected Hippy.

"Ah reckon it air."

"Then that is where we are going."

"Yer kain't go this a-way," replied the mountaineer.

"Why can't we?" demanded Grace.

"'Cause Ah says ye kain't."

"Perhaps you do not know who we are. We are a party out for a ride
through the Kentucky mountains. We ride every summer. We have no other
object, and, if you will pause to consider, you will see that we can do
no harm to you or any one else by going where we please in this part of
the country," urged Grace.

"Ah knows who ye be. Turn aroun' an' git out o' here right smart!"

"You are making a mistake, sir," warned Grace. "If there is good reason
why we should not go up this gorge we will go around it on the ridge."

"Ah said git out! Ye kain't go up the gorge nor over the ridge. Git out
o' the mountains!"

"Not this evening, we won't!" shouted Lieutenant Wingate, now thoroughly
angered, as he gathered up his reins.

_Bang!_

A bullet from the mountaineer's rifle went through the peak of Hippy
Wingate's campaign hat, lifting it from his head and depositing it on
the ground.

"Don't draw!" cried Grace in a warning voice as Hippy let a hand slip
from the bridle-rein.

"Put yer hands up! All of ye!" commanded the mountaineer, the muzzle of
his rifle swinging suggestively from side to side so as to cover the
entire party.

CHAPTER VI

HIPPY MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARS

All except Nora Wingate obeyed the command to hold up their hands.

"I'll not put me hands up for the likes of you!" she retorted, her eyes
snapping, as she deliberately got down from her pony.

"Don't do anything foolish," warned Grace Harlowe.

Unheeding the warning, Nora stepped over and picked up Hippy's hat, eyed
the hole in it, the color flaming higher and higher in her face. Nora
then walked straight up to the mountaineer, apparently unconscious of
the fact that his rifle was now pointed directly at her.

The mountaineer was nearer death at th