to the use of fire-arms, stumbled over a root while he was seeing that
his pistol was in order and let it go off accidentally.

"No time to waste now," the Falin called sharply. "Git on yo' hosses
and git!" Then the rush was made and when they gave up the chase at noon
that day, the sheriff looked Hale squarely in the eye when Hale sharply
asked him a question:

"Why didn't you tell me who that man was?"

"Because I was afeerd you wouldn't go to Devil Judd's atter him. I know
better now," and he shook his head, for he did not understand. And so
Hale at the head of the disappointed Guard went back to the Gap, and
when, next day, they laid Mockaby away in the thinly populated little
graveyard that rested in the hollow of the river's arm, the spirit of
law and order in the heart of every guard gave way to the spirit of
revenge, and the grass would grow under the feet of none until Rufe
Tolliver was caught and the death-debt of the law was paid with death.

That purpose was no less firm in the heart of Hale, and he turned
away from the grave, sick with the trick that Fate had lost no time in
playing him; for he was a Falin now in the eyes of both factions and an
enemy--even to June.

The weeks dragged slowly along, and June sank slowly toward the depths
with every fresh realization of the trap of circumstance into which she
had fallen. She had dim memories of just such a state of affairs when
she was a child, for the feud was on now and the three things that
governed the life of the cabin in Lonesome Cove were hate, caution, and
fear.

Bub and her father worked in the fields with their Winchesters close
at hand, and June was never easy if they were outside the house. If
somebody shouted "hello"--that universal hail of friend or enemy in the
mountains--from the gate after dark, one or the other would go out
the back door and answer from the shelter of the corner of the house.
Neither sat by the light of the fire where he could be seen through the
window nor carried a candle from one room to the other. And when either
rode down the river, June must ride behind him to prevent ambush from
the bushes, for no Kentucky mountaineer, even to kill his worst enemy,
will risk harming a woman. Sometimes Loretta would come and spend
the day, and she seemed little less distressed than June. Dave was
constantly in and out, and several times June had seen the Red Fox
hanging around. Always the talk was of the feud. The killing of thi