ies; but among the unnumbered influences and
incidents of its course it served to save that humble sylvan life for
a space. The hunter neither saw nor heard.

It was only when the deer with a sudden snort and a precipitate bound
fled crashing through the laurel that Walter Hoxon became aware of his
presence, and of the stealthy approach that had alarmed him. The
approach was stealthy no longer. A quick, nervous tread, a rustling of
the boughs, and as the hunter rose to his feet his elder brother
emerged from the undergrowth, taller than he as they stood together on
the margin of the lick, more active, sinewy, alert.

"Whyn't ye take a shot at him, Wat?" cried Justus Hoxon tumultuously.
"I'll be bound ye war nappin'," he added in keen rebuke.

A pause, then Walter Hoxon pulled himself together and retorted:--

"Nappin'!" in scornful falsetto. "How _could_ I get a shot, with ye
a-trompin' up ez n'isy ez a herd o' cattle?"

The reproach evidently struck home, for the elder said nothing. With
the thoroughness characteristic of the habitual liar, Walter proceeded
to add circumstance to his original statement.

"I seen the buck whenst he fust kem sidlin' an' slippin' up ter the
water, oneasy an' onsartain from the fust minute. I hed jes' sighted
my rifle. An' hyar ye kem, a-bulgin' out o' the lau'l, an' sp'iled my
shot." As the verisimilitude of his representations bore upon him, he
unconsciously assumed the sentiments natural to the situation
simulated. "Who tole ye ez I war hyar, anyhows?" he demanded angrily.

"'Dosia," replied Justus Hoxon in a mild tone. Then, with an effort at
exculpation, "I 'lowed ye'd be keen--plumb sharp set--fur news 'bout
the prospec's o' the 'lection. An' she 'lowed ez ye hed kem down hyar
hopin' ter git a deer. 'T war The'dosia."

At the name the other had turned slightly away and looked down, a
gesture that invidious daylight might have interpreted as anxiety, or
faltering, or at the least replete with consciousness. But even if
open to observation, it could scarcely have signified aught to Justus
Hoxon, wrapped in his own thoughts, and in his absorbing interest in
the events of the day. His mental attitude was so apparent to his
brother, albeit his form was barely distinguishable as they stood
together by the salt lick, that Wat ventured a question--a bold one,
it seemed to him, and he felt a chill because of its temerity.

"Glad ter see ye, I s'pose?"

"Plumb tickled ter death," ex