ss man in all
these mountains than thet very Steve--" The name ended in a gasp, and the
wizened gossip was caught by the throat and tossed, chair and all, into
a corner of the mill.

"None o' that, Steve!" called the miller, sternly. "Not hyeh. Don't hurt
him now!"

Crump's face stiffened with such terror that Steve broke into a laugh.

"Well, ye air a skeery critter!" he said, contemptuously. "I hain't
goin' to hurt him, Uncl' Gabe, but he must be a plumb idgit, a-talkin'
'bout folks to thar face, 'n' him so puny an' spindlin'! You git!"

Crump picked himself up trembling--"Don't ye ever let me see ye on this
side o' the river agin, now "--and shuffled out, giving Marcum one look
of fear and unearthly hate.

"Convicted!" snorted Steve. "I heerd old Steve Brayton had hired him to
waylay me, 'n' I swar I believe hit's so."

"Well, he won't hev to give him more'n a chaw o' tobaccer now," said
Gabe. "He'll come purty near doin' hit hisseif, I reckon, ef he gits
the chance."

"Well, he kin git the chance ef I gits my leetle account settled with ole
Steve Brayton fust. 'Pears like that old hog ain't satisfied shootin'
me hisself." Stretching his arms with a yawn, Steve winked at Isom and
moved to the door. The boy followed him outside.

"We're goin' fer ole Brayton about the dark o' the next moon, boy," he
said. "He's sort o' s'picious now, 'n' we'll give him a leetle time to
git tame. I'll have a bran'-new Winchester fer ye, Isom. Hit ull be like
ole times agin, when Rome was hyeh. Whut's the matter, boy?" he asked,
suddenly. Isom looked unresponsive, listless.

"Air ye gittin' sick agin?"

"Well, I hain't feelin' much peert, Steve."

"Take keer o' yourself, boy. Don't git sick now. We'll have to watch Eli
Crump purty close. I don't know why I hain't killed thet spyin' skunk
long ago, 'ceptin' I never had a shore an' sartin reason fer doin 'it."

Isom started to speak then and stopped. He would learn more first; and
he let Steve go on home unwarned.

The two kept silence after Marcum had gone. Isom turned away from old
Gabe, and stretched himself out on the platform. He looked troubled. The
miller, too, was worried.

"Jus' a hole in the groun'," he said, half to himself; "that's whut we're
all comm' to! 'Pears like we mought help one 'nother to keep out'n hit,
'stid o' holpin' 'em in."

Brown shadows were interlacing out in the mill-pond, where old Gabe's
eyes were intent. A current of cool air had starte