cave, and old Gabe knew
it. Her he would not leave.

"I tell ye, Rome, you've got to go. Thar's no use talkin'. Court comes
the fust Monday in June. The soldiers ull be hyeh. Hit won't be safe.
Thar's some that s'picions I know whar ye air now, 'n' they'll be
spyin', 'n' mebbe hit'll git me into trouble, too, aidin' 'n' abettin' a
man to git away who air boun' to the law."

The two were sitting on the earthen floor of the cave before a little
fire, and Rome, with his hands about his knees and his brows knitted,
was staring into the yellow blaze. His unshorn hair fell to his
shoulders; his face was pale from insufficient food and exercise, and
tense with a look that was at once caged and defiant.

"Uncle Gabe," he asked, quietly, for the old man's tone was a little
querulous, "air ye sorry ye holped me? Do ye blame me fer whut I've
done?"

"No," said the old miller, answering both questions; "I don't. I believe
whut ye tol' me. Though, even ef ye had 'a' done it, I don't know as I'd
blame ye, seem' that it was a fa'r fight. I don't doubt he was doin' his
best to kill you."

Rome turned quickly, his face puzzled and darkening.

"Uncle Gabe, whut air you drivin' at?" The old man spat into the fire,
and shifted his position uneasily, as Rome's hand caught his knee.

"Well, ef I have to tell ye, I s'pose I must. Thar's been nothin'
pertickler ag'in ye so fer, 'cept fer breakin' that confederatin'
statute 'bout bandin' fightin' men together; 'n' nobody was very anxious
to git hol' o' ye jes fer that, but now"--the old man stopped a moment,
for Rome's eyes were kindling--"they say that ye killed Jas Lew allen,
'n' that ye air a murderer; 'n' hit air powerful strange how all of
a suddint folks seem to be gittin' down on a man as kills his
fellow-creetur; 'n' now they means to hunt ye til they ketch ye."

It was all out now, and the old man was relieved. Rome rose to his feet,
and in sheer agony of spirit paced the floor.

"I tol' ye, Uncle Gabe, that I didn't kill him."

"So ye did, 'n' I believe ye. But a feller seed you 'n' Steve comm'
from the place whar Jas was found dead, 'n' whar the dirt 'n' rock was
throwed about as by two bucks in spring-time. Steve says he didn't
do it, 'n' he wouldn't say you didn't. Looks to me like Steve did the
killn', 'n' was lyin' a leetle. He hain't goin' to confess hit to
save your neck; 'n' he can't no way, fer he hev lit out o' these
mount'ins--long ago."

If Steve was out of