ng over his shoulder at this new
play-fellow who seemed to enter so readily into a game.

"For Gawd's sake," the sheriff screamed. "Stop, Tusk!--Stop!--Oh, my
Lawd!"

He was alone upon the spur, his face averted. Dale came slowly out and
joined him; listening, also, in the solitude of this wild place to the
deep rumble of water far below them, where it rushed into the earth
carrying all things to some mysterious subterranean sea. There had been
no cry from Tusk as he fell, for doubtless he had thought the plunge but
a continuation of the game.

Without speaking, Jess turned and picked up two old shoes which lay in
grotesque attitudes on the rock. These he placed side by side, and with
them a few scattered remnants of corn bread, an empty whiskey bottle and
an old hat. It was a pathetic attempt to do something--to leave the
disordered man's house in order; and he smiled quietly when Dale brought
a cob pipe, a knife and a twist of "long green" tobacco, which he had
found.

Silently, then, they made the descent and trudged homeward; Jess solemn,
Dale excitedly happy. But the mountaineer was not going to Arden just
yet;--first he must tell Jane that henceforth she could come without
fear and help him with his lessons.

"Wall," the sheriff said, after another hour of walking, "if you're
goin' to Flat Rock I'd better leave you heah, an' make my way to Arden.
Our hunt's ended, right enough; an' Gawd have mercy on his poh, ign'rant
soul!"

They shook hands, and once more the mountaineer hurried on.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

A LANE AT TWILIGHT

The elaborate midday dinner at Arden had been dabbled at, or bolted with
a rush which did scant justice to the cuisine of that hospitable
establishment; for a restiveness obsessed the household which would not
be denied. The Colonel was wishing for the return of Doctor Stone--and
this happened to be the wish of Nancy. Brent cared little what took
place if four o'clock would hurry around. Yet each shared in a vague
apprehension for the mountaineer who, Zack told them, had not returned.

"He may have walked over to Bob's," the Colonel suggested, and the
simple hearted servant, seeing his old master's distress of mind,
unhesitatingly declared:

"Dat's jest whar he done gwine, Marse John, sho's youse bawned!"

This had brought relief, if not conviction.

Nevertheless, the old gentleman preferred to abandon his Sunday
afternoon nap in favor of watching for Stone. Always, alway