ay, changing his course from time to time as he looked
back and saw that she was watching him; and when she went into the house
he walked briskly toward a tree down beneath a hill, and here he sat
down, with his hat off. At his feet was a grave, trimmed with muscle
shells brought from the creek, and shading the stone at the head was a
rose-bush, in bloom.

CHAPTER XX.

MET IT IN THE ROAD.

Long he sat there meditating over something precious as one does
expecting trouble; and arising he walked rapidly to the gulch leading to
his still house. But, reaching there, no moss-covered logs greeted his
eye. There was a smoldering fire, with diminutive whirlpools of white
ashes. He wiped his brow and upon a stone he sat down. The law had come
with its torch, and for a long time his face was hard and grim. An hour
must have passed, and then with an air of gentleness as one resigned to
punishment, he went to a rock, the rock under which the spirit boy had
dwelt, and reaching beneath it drew forth a Winchester rifle.

"I'll pump out these here brass temptations," he said, throwing out the
cartridges and slowly, one by one, dropped them into the rivulet. Then,
breaking the gun across the rock, he slowly started toward home.

Reaching the road, he stood looking up and down the rugged highway over
which Old Jackson's carriage had bumped and rattled, over which long
before the days of the railroad dry-goods and hardware had been
transported from Philadelphia to Nashville. He did not stand there long
alone. From the bushes came a loud command--"Throw up your hands"--and
the government's guns were pointed at his breast. He obeyed and three
men came forward to search him, and just then came the roar of Peters.
"Why didn't you shoot the scoundrel!" Past the men he rushed with a
knife, and Old Jasper, leaping in the air, struck him in the face with
his iron fist and he lay senseless and bleeding on the ground.

One of the deputies threw up his gun to shoot, but the officer in
command seized the weapon and wrested it from his hands.

"You wolf, would you shoot a brave old man? He respects the law more
than you--and a hundred per cent. more than this villain. I wish he had
broken his neck. Here, Nick," he added, speaking to his other attendant,
"go up the hill to where Pagett has the wagon, bring it here and take
this half-dead hulk to his home. Then drive over to Starbuck's, and I
will be there with the prisoner. You go with m