nd on
this account the man had sought vengeance. The lover sickened at the
thought of the form that brutal vengeance might take. Often, Sutton,
covertly watchful, averted his glance that he might not see the
despair on the mountaineer's face.

The two travelers were on their way to the ferry in Norfolk, when
inspiration came to Zeke: He bethought him of Cyclone Brant, and the
stag-hound, Jack. A few words sufficed for explanation of the matter
to Sutton, who welcomed the idea of securing such assistance for the
search.

"I kin git 'im, if he's home," Zeke declared, eagerly. "He lives in
Suffolk, 'bout twenty miles toward Wilkes. I'll try an' git 'im on the
'phone."

In this, he was successful, and he was greatly cheered by the anxiety
displayed by Brant to be of assistance. But the detective was
distressed over the delay of twelve hours that must ensue before they
could get a train to North Wilkesboro'. Sutton removed this difficulty
by ordering a special, which should be made up at once, and should
stop at Suffolk to take on Brant and his dog. So, within the hour, the
three men and the hound were rushing at rocking speed along the
tortuous river course that led into the mountains. Instructions had
been sent ahead, by Brant's suggestion, to have an automobile and
driver in readiness for the arrival of the party at the North
Wilkesboro' station.

The three men talked but little during the trip. The tenseness of
suspense held them in thrall, and, for the most part, they sat in grim
silence, staring out of the windows at the swiftly flitting panorama
of moonlit landscape, wherein the fertile level areas changed to
narrowing valleys, and these, in turn, to wild gorges, where the
river ran in bellowing riot beneath lofty ramparts of stone. Sutton's
thoughts veered from pity for his young friend to keen calculation of
profits to come from the locust timber of the slopes. Cyclone Brant
mused on his past adventurings in these wilds. From time to time, he
pulled at the ears of the stag-hound, which sat on its haunches in the
aisle, balancing its big bulk elastically against the erratic joltings
of the car, and regarding its master with patient adoration in the
reddened eyes.

Zeke, too, had the single comfort of a dog's faithful fondness. The
bull-terrier crouched on the seat beside its master. The
squat-featured face was thrust forward, with the heavy jaw resting on
Zeke's lap. Often, the dog whined, with a soft, whimpe