rink of liquor.... There's Buckley now, coming
in above."

Buckley Simmons entered the road from a narrow trail a number of yards
ahead of the stage. He tramped heavily, holding a hickory switch in one
hand, cutting savagely at the underbrush. The stage leisurely caught up to
him until the horses' heads were opposite his thickset form. Gordon, from
the other side of the team, swung himself into his seat. He grasped the
whip, and, leaning out, swept the heavy leather thong in a vicious circle.
It whistled above the horses, causing them to plunge, and the lash,
stopped suddenly, drew across Buckley Simmons' face. For an instant his
startled countenance was white, and then it was wet, gleaming and scarlet.
He pressed his hands to his mouth, and stumbled confused into the ditch.

Gordon stopped the stage. Merlier gave vent to a sibilant exclamation,
and Lattice Hollidew covered her eyes. The stranger sprang to the road,
and hurried to the injured man's side. Gordon got down slowly. "Where did
it get him?" he inquired, with a shallow show of concern. He regarded with
indifferent eyes the gaping cut across Simmons' jaw, while the stranger
was converting a large linen handkerchief into a ready bandage.

Buckley, in stammering, shocked rage, began to curse Gordon's clumsiness,
and, in his excitement, the wound bled more redly. "You will have to keep
quiet," he was told, "for this afternoon anyhow."

"I'm not a 'dam' blind bat," Gordon informed his victim in a rapid
undertone; "my eyes are sharper than usual to-day." Above the stained
bandage Simmons' gaze was blankly enraged. "That won't danger you none,"
Gordon continued, in louder, apparently unstudied tones; "but you can't
kiss the girls for a couple of weeks."

Buckley Simmons was assisted into the rear seat; Lettice sat alone, her
face hidden by the flowery rim of her hat; Merlier was silent,
indifferent, bland. The way grew increasingly wilder, and climbed and
climbed; at their back dipped and spread mile upon mile of unbroken
hemlock; the minute clearings, the solitary cabins, were lost in the still
expanse of tree tops; the mountain towered blue, abrupt, before them. The
stranger consulted a small map. "This is Buck Mountain," he announced
rather than queried; "Greenstream Village is beyond, west from here, with
the valley running north and south."

"You have got us laid out right," Gordon assented; "this all's not new to
you." It was as close to the direct questio