le packet of papers he held
in his hand drop unnoted to the grass. He scorned to make an appeal for
himself, yet it seemed worth while to let his adversaries know that he
was aware what they would be at.

"Who found Blatch Turrentine's body and removed it?" he asked abruptly.

Blatch's body,--unknown to his uncle and Judith--at that moment reposing
comfortably upon a bed in the loft room adjoining the porch, heaved with
noiseless chuckles.

Old Jephthah's eyes narrowed. "We 'low that ye might answer that question
for yo'self," he said coolly. "Word goes that you've done hid the body,
so murder couldn't be proved."

The visitor sighed. He was disappointed. He had hoped the old man might
have admitted--to him--that Blatch had not been killed.

"Mr. Turrentine," he began desperately, "I know what you people believe
about me--but it isn't true; I'm not a spy. When I came upon that still,
I was running for my life. I never wanted to know anything about
blockaded stills."

"Ye talked sort o' like ye did, here earlier in the evenin'," said the
old man, rearing himself erect in his chair, and glaring upon the fool
who spoke out in broad daylight concerning such matters.

"I didn't mean that personally," protested Creed. "I wish to the Lord I
didn't know anything about it. I'm sorry it chanced that I looked in the
cave there and saw your son----"

"You needn't go into no particulars about whar you looked in, nor what
you seed, nor call out no names of them you seed," cut in the old man's
voice, low and menacing; and around the corner of the house Jim Cal,
where he had stolen up to listen, trembled through all the soft bulk of
his body like a jelly; and into his white face the angry blood rushed.

"Wish ye didn't know nothin? Yes, and you'll wish't it wuss'n that befo'
yo're done with it," he muttered under his breath.

"I don't intend to use that or any other information against a neighbour
and a friend," Creed went on doggedly. "But they can't make me leave the
Turkey Tracks. I'm here to stay. I came with a work to do, and I mean to
do it or die trying."

The old man's head was sunk a bit on his breast, so that the great black
beard rose up of itself and shadowed his lower face. "Mighty fine--mighty
fine," he murmured in its voluminous folds. "Ef they is one thing finer
than doin' what you set out to do, hit's to die a-tryin'. The sort of
sentiments you have on hand now is the kind I l'arned myself out of the
blue-