lan, as it had pressed in on Breathitt, the seat of another feud,
in another county. In Breathitt the feud was long past, and with good
reason old Gabe thought that it was done in Hazlan.

But that autumn a panic started over from England. It stopped the
railroad far down the Cumberland; it sent the "furriners" home, and
drove civilization back. Marcums and Braytons came in from hiding, and
drifted one by one to the old fighting-ground. In time they took up the
old quarrel, and with Steve Marcum and Steve Brayton as leaders, the
old Stetson-Lewallen feud went on, though but one soul was left in the
mountains of either name. That was Isom, a pale little fellow whom Rome
had left in old Gabe's care; and he, though a Stetson and a half-brother
to Rome, was not counted, because he was only a boy and a foundling, and
because his ways were queer.

There was no open rupture, no organized division--that might happen no
more. The mischief was individual now, and ambushing was more common.
Certain men were looking for each other, and it was a question of
"draw-in' quick 'n' shootin' quick" when the two met by accident, or of
getting the advantage "from the bresh."

In time Steve Marcum had come face to face with old Steve Brayton in
Hazlan, and the two Steves, as they were known, drew promptly. Marcum
was in the dust when the smoke cleared away; and now, after three months
in bed, he was just out again. He had come down to the mill to see Isom.
This was the miller's first chance for remonstrance, and, as usual,
he began to lay it down that every man who had taken a human life must
sooner or later pay for it with his own. It was an old story to Isom,
and, with a shake of impatience, he turned out the door of the mill, and
left old Gabe droning on under his dusty hat to Steve, who, being heavy
with "moonshine," dropped asleep.

Outside the sun was warm, the flood was calling from the dam, and the
boy's petulance was gone at once. For a moment he stood on the rude
platform watching the tide; then he let one bare foot into the water,
and, with a shiver of delight, dropped from the boards. In a moment his
clothes were on the ground behind a laurel thicket, and his slim white
body was flashing like a faun through the reeds and bushes up stream.
A hundred yards away the creek made a great loop about a wet thicket
of pine and rhododendron, and he turned across the bushy neck. Creeping
through the gnarled bodies of rhododendron, he dro