ide him, when he heard the staccato crack of a
rifle, and simultaneously the high-pitched whine of a bullet past his
head.

Once before, in the Maine woods, he had been an unwilling target, on
that occasion for an overanxious deer hunter. Then he had sprung up,
waving his arms and shouting a warning, but now instinct told him that
the opposite procedure was the proper one, and he threw himself
precipitately into the enveloping rhododendrons. As he did so, from the
path above him came a derisive laugh which set his blood boiling.

It awakened in Donald all the blind, fighting spirit which, in gridiron
days, had driven him with clinched teeth into the thick of the battering
melee. He sprang into a crouching posture, face turned toward the
taunting sound, every muscle taut, every nerve tingling, and with but
one thought surging through his brain--the desire to charge back and
attack Judd, barehanded.

Slowly the red demons of primitive passion vanished before the returning
light of wisdom, born of maturity and the restraining power of
civilization. He quickly realized that he had no right to make a fool of
himself for the sake of such a cause, and in such a childish manner. His
duty was paramount to the satisfaction of an atavistic impulse, and,
placing a strong mental grasp upon his nerves, which cried for drastic
action, Donald turned downward into the footpath again, and broke into a
run.

Haste was doubly essential, for little time remained before the hour for
the departure of his train, and, even in Virginia, it _might_ leave
according to schedule. As he crashed impetuously through a bush whose
branches blocked the path, he heard again the laughter from above him
and caught a new note therein--that of exultation.

Donald stifled an oath, while an additional reason for returning to the
mountain burned its way into his heart.

* * * * *

On the path above, Judd deliberately blew the fouling smoke from his
rifle barrel, turned about, and, with a satisfied smile mingling with
the expression of hate on his lips, climbed back towards Jerry's cabin.

In its doorway stood Rose. The happy flush still lingered delicately on
her cheeks, and her limpid eyes were full of a soft, dreamy light.

"What war yo' ershootin' at, Judd?" she cried, as the man came into
view, carelessly swinging his long weapon.

"Et a pole-cat," was his brief reply, as he removed his broad straw hat
and sank with