of evil spirits. When they took Huraken to the
mouth of the cave they would go no farther. 'Evil spirits are inside!'
the chieftain said, and the rest of his tribe nodded and frowned. So
Huraken went into the dark cave alone. From that to this he's never been
seen. And the corpse of the Princess Manuita, it's gone too. Her empty
tomb is in yonder's cave. Not even a crumb of her bones can be found."

Old Morg Tompert reflected a long moment. "I reckon when Huraken packed
the princess off somewhere else her corpse come to be a heavy load. He
dropped his silver tomahawk that he had aimed to give the chieftain for
his daughter's hand. It lay for a hundred year or more--I reckon it's
been that long--right where it was dropped. Off yonder in Smoky Valley
under a high cliff some of Pa's kinfolks found it. A silver tomahawk
with a peace pipe carved on its handle. Pa's own blood kin, by name, Ben
Henderson, found that silver tomahawk but no living soul has ever found
the lost silver mine. There's bound to have been a mine, else Huraken
could never have made that silver tomahawk. Only one lorn white man knew
where it was. His name was Swift. But when he died, he taken the secret
of the silver mine to the grave with him. Swift ought to a-told some of
the womenfolks," declared old Morg, still vexed at the man Swift's
laxity though his demise had occurred ages ago. "Swift ought to a-told
some of the womenfolks," old Morg repeated with finality.

BLACK CAT

From where old Pol Gentry lived on Rocky Fork of Webb's Creek she could
see far down into the valley of Pigeon River and across the ridge on all
sides. Her house stood at the very top of Hawks Nest, the highest peak
in all the country around. Pol didn't have a tight house like several
down near the sawmill. She said it wasn't healthy. Even when the owner
of the portable mill offered her leftover planks to cover her log house
where the daubin had fallen out, Pol refused. "The holes let the wind in
and the cat out," she'd say, "and a body can't do without either."

There was a long sleek cat, with green eyes and fur as black as a crow,
to be seen skulking in and out of Pol Gentry's place. If it met a person
as it prowled through the woods, the cat darted off swift as a weasel
into the bush to hide away. Young folks on Rocky Fork of Webb's Creek
learned early to snatch off hat or bonnet if the cat crossed their path,
spit into it, and put it quickl