meantime, how does the fellow contrive
to live!"

"Jes by his rifle, I reckon," replied the rural gossip whom intrusive
curiosity occasionally lured to their camp-fire. "Though sence that thar
big reward hev been n'ised abroad, I'd think he'd be plumb afraid ter
fire a shot. The echoes be mighty peart these dumb, damp fall days."

The old jeans-clad mountaineer had a certain keen spryness of aspect,
despite his bent knees and stooped shoulders. His deeply grooved,
narrow, thin face was yet more elongated by the extension of a high
forehead into a bald crown, for he wore his broad wool hat on the back
of his head. There was something in his countenance not dissimilar to
the facial contour of a grasshopper, and the suggestion was heightened
by his persistent, rasping chirp.

"That's what frets Meddy; she can't abide the idee of huntin' a human
with sech special coursers ez money reward. She 'lows it mought tempt
a' evil man or a' ignorant one ter swear a miser'ble wretch's life
away. Let the law strengthen its own hands--that's what Meddy say. Don't
kindle the sperit of Cain in every brother's breast. Oh, Meddy is plumb
comical whenst she fairly gits ter goin', though it's all on account of
that thar man what war growed up in a tree."

The dryadic suggestions of a dendroidal captivity flashed into Seymour's
mind with the phrase, and stimulated his curiosity as to some quaint
rural perversion of the legend.

But it was grim fact that the old mountaineer detailed in answer to the
question, as he sat on a log by the fire, while the sportsmen lay on the
ground about it and idly listened.

"One day--'t war 'bout two year' ago--thar war a valley-man up hyar
a-huntin' in the mountings with some other fellers, an' toward sunset
he war a-waitin' at a stand on a deer-path up thar nigh Headlong Creek,
hopin' ter git a shot whenst the deer went down to drink. Waal, I reckon
luck war ag'in' him, fer he got nuthin' but durned tired. So, ez he
waited, he grounded his rifle, an' leaned himself ag'in' a great big
tree ter rest his bones. And presently he jes happened ter turn his
head, an', folks! he seen a sight! Fer thar, right close ter his cheek,
he looked into a skellington's eye-sockets. Thar war a skellington's
grisly face peerin' at him through a crack in the bark."

The raconteur suddenly stopped short, while the group remained silent
in expectancy. The camp-fire, with its elastic, leaping flames, had
bepainted the darken