gazed after him, astonished by the magic of his
disappearance, and, at first, piqued not a little by his scanty
courtesy. Then realizing that the mountaineer was, possibly, quite
justified in feeling grave suspicions of the stranger who was with
her--of any stranger coming thus, without a herald to the mountains--she
turned again to Layson, and, with her hand lightly guiding him by touch
as delicate, almost, as a wind-blown leaf's upon his sleeve, led him to
the nearest mountain path and on, toward a point whence she could
clearly point out to him the way to his own camp.

And, suddenly, her own heart throbbed with worry. Had she not done wrong
in bringing this unknown and, therefore, this mysterious stranger so
close upon the heart of Lorey's secret? She had chosen the path
thoughtlessly. She realized that, now, and much regretted it. The man
had wholly won her confidence, but had it been considerate or fair to
Joe, her lifelong friend, or to the other people of the mountains who
had things to hide from strangers, to be quite so frank with him in her
revelation of the byways of the wilderness?

Between the mountain-dwellers and the people of the lowlands never
could exist real confidence or friendship. From her babyhood she had
been taught to feel suspicion of all strangers: that was, indeed, first
article in the creed of all folk mountain-born. Why had she so freely
dropped her mantle of reserve before _this_ stranger? That he had saved
her from the bush-fire was excuse for her own gratitude, but was it
valid reason for exposing her best friends to danger at his hands, if
they proved treacherous? The revenuers, she had been informed, were men
of devilish craft, unscrupulous cunning. Might not this youth with the
fine clothes, the splendid manner, the great learning, the soft voice,
the quick resource and the undoubted bravery, very well be one of them?

She had once heard a mountain preacher draw a picture of the devil,
which made him most attractive and in the same way that this youth was
most attractive. Certain of the sympathies of his rough hearers, the man
had painted Beelzebub with broad, rough, verbal strokes, as a bluegrass
gentleman intent on the destruction of the honor, independence, liberty
of mountaineers. The mountaineer has never and will never understand
what right the government of state or nation has to interfere with
whatsoe'er he does on his own land with his own corn in his own still.
Just why h