eagerly.

"I'll stake a cowbell that Sevier will stop at the Widow Brown's," he
replied. "I'll put you on the road. But mind you, you are to tell Mr.
Temple that he is to come back here and race me at Greasy Cove."

"I'll warrant him to come," said I.

Whereupon we left the inn together, more amicably than before. Mr.
Jackson had a thoroughbred horse near by that was a pleasure to see, and
my admiration of his mount seemed to set me as firmly in Mr. Jackson's
esteem again as that gentleman himself sat in the saddle. He was as good
as his word, rode out with me some distance on the road, and reminded me
at the last that Nick was to race him.

CHAPTER VI

THE WIDOW BROWN'S

It was not to my credit that I should have lost the trail, after Mr.
Jackson put me straight. But the night was dark, the country unknown to
me, and heavily wooded and mountainous. In addition to these things my
mind ran like fire. My thoughts sometimes flew back to the wondrous
summer evening when I trod the Nollichucky trace with Tom and Polly Ann,
when I first looked down upon the log palace of that prince of the
border, John Sevier. Well I remembered him, broad-shouldered, handsome,
gay, a courtier in buckskin. Small wonder he was idolized by the Watauga
settlers, that he had been their leader in the struggle of Franklin for
liberty. And small wonder that Nick Temple should be in his following.

Nick! My mind was in a torment concerning him. What of his mother?
Should I speak of having seen her? I went blindly through the woods for
hours after the night fell, my horse stumbling and weary, until at length
I came to a lonely clearing on the mountain side, and a fierce pack of
dogs dashed barking at my horse's heels. There was a dark cabin ahead,
indistinct in the starlight, and there I knocked until a gruff voice
answered me and a tousled man came to the door. Yes, I had missed the
trail. He shook his head when I asked for the Widow Brown's, and bade me
share his bed for the night. No, I would go on, I was used to the
backwoods. Thereupon he thawed a little, kicked the dogs, and pointed to
where the mountain dipped against the star-studded sky. There was a
trail there which led direct to the Widow Brown's, if I could follow it.
So I left him.

Once the fear had settled deeply of missing Nick at the Widow Brown's, I
put my mind on my journey, and thanks to my early training I was able to
keep the trail. It doubled around the spurs, forded