he traps, but had given over the plan as one offering more
chance of the raiders being discovered prematurely. Instead, he had
decided on taking his men up the mountainside by a round-about route,
likely to be free from watchers. His men were already instructed in
every point, so now they followed him rapidly and almost noiselessly,
as he forced his way through the thick growths of the wooded slopes.
The darkness added to the difficulties of the progress, but the posse
were inured to hardships, and went onward and upward resolutely.
Despite the necessities of the detour, they came surprisingly soon to
a height from which they looked across a small ravine to the level
space where the still perched by the stream. A few whispered words
from the leader, and the company crept with increased care across the
ravine. From the ridge beyond, three of the men passed forward to make
ambush--one above, and one below, and one on the far side of the
still. Stone and a single companion remained, hiding behind the
clumps of rhododendrons.

It was with huge satisfaction that the marshal recognized Hodges
himself, plainly revealed by the firelight. The "kettle" was running
at full blast. The seasoned hickory logs, in the rough stone furnace
beneath the kettle, were burning fiercely, and the blue and gold of
their flames lighted all the scene into vivid relief against the
background of shadows. Stone, even at his distance, could see
distinctly the tiny stream of colorless mountain-corn whiskey, as it
flowed out from the worm into the keg placed to receive it. The leader
of the gang was seated at ease on a stool just outside the brush
enclosure that masked the buildings. The villain was evidently in a
mood of contentment, untainted by remorse over the havoc his traps
might wreak on any passing through the gorge below. Rather, doubtless,
the memory of those sinister sentinels gave him a sense of safety, on
which his serenity was founded. In his lap was a banjo which he
thrummed vigorously, with rhythmic precision, if no greater musical
art, and head and body and feet, all gave emphasis to the movement. At
intervals, his raucous voice rumbled a snatch of song. It was evident
that the moonshiner was mellow from draughts of his own potent
product.

Others of the gang were busied here and there, bulking grotesquely as
they moved about the fire, seeming disheveled demons of the pit. Like
some master imp torturing a pigmy over the flames, old Be