uns
wouldn't have no sorter show."

Kate finally succeeded in convincing the boys that she spoke the truth,
and they agreed to remain quietly in the old mill.

She led them into the mill, which was dank and dismal. The imperfect
light failed to show all the pitfalls that lurked for their feet, but
she warned them, and they escaped injury.

The miller had lived in the mill, and the girl took them to the part of
the old building that had served as a home.

"Har," she said, opening a closet door, "I've brung food fer you-uns, so
yer won't starve, an' I knowed ye'd be hongry."

"You are more than thoughtful, Miss Kenyon."

"Yer seem ter have fergot what we agreed ter call each other, Frank."

She spoke the words in a tone of reproach.

"Kate!"

Barney turned away, winking uselessly at nothing at all, and kept his
back toward them for some moments.

But Frank Merriwell had no thought of making love to this strange girl
of the mountains. She had promised to be his friend; she had proved
herself his friend, and as no more than a friend did he propose to
accept her.

That he had awakened something stronger than a friendly feeling in Kate
Kenyon's breast seemed evident, and the girl was so artless that she
could not conceal her true feelings toward him.

They stood there, talking in a low tone, while the morning light stole
in at one broken window and grew stronger and stronger within that room.

Frank was studying Kate's speech and voice. As he did so a new thought
came to him--a thought that was at first a mere suspicion, which he
scarcely noted at all. This suspicion grew, and he found himself asking:

"Kate, are you sure your brother is still wearing a convict's suit?"

She started, and looked at him closely.

"Sure o' it?" she repeated. "No, fer he may be dead."

"You do not know that he is dead--you have not heard of his death?"

"No."

"Is he bold and daring?"

Her eyes flashed, and a look of pride swept across her face.

"Folks allus 'lowed Rufe Kenyon wa'n't afeard o' ary two-legged critter
livin', an' they war right."

"Perhaps he has escaped."

She clutched his arm, beginning to pant, as she asked:

"What makes you say that? I knowed he'd try it some day, but--but, have
you heard anything? Do you know that he has tried it?"

The suspicion leaped to a conviction in the twinkling of an eye. If Rufe
Kenyon was not at liberty, then he must be right in what he thought.

"I do not know that