exclaimed wrath-fully. "Hyar is our old red cow a-traipsing off ter Andy
Bailey's house, an' thar won't be a drap of milk for supper."

This was a serious matter, for in a region where coffee and tea are
almost unknown luxuries, and the evening meal consists of such
thirst-provoking articles as broiled venison, corn-dodgers, and sorghum,
one is apt to feel the need of some liquid milder than "apple-jack,"
and more toothsome than water, wherewith to wet one's whistle.

In common with everything else on the mountain, Jack, too, had the
"twistin's," and it was with a sour face that he began to drive the cow
homeward. After going some distance, however, he persuaded himself that
she would leave the beaten track no more until she reached the cabin. He
turned about, therefore, and retraced his way to the stream.

There had been heavy rains in the mountains, and it was far out of its
banks, rushing and foaming over great rocks, circling in swift
whirlpools, plunging in smooth, glassy sheets down sudden descents, and
maddening thence in tumultuous, yeasty billows.

An old mill, long disused and fallen into decay, stood upon the brink.
It was a painful suggestion of collapsed energies, despite its
picturesque drapery of vines. No human being could live there, but in
the doorway abruptly appeared a boy of seventeen, dressed, like Jack, in
an old brown jeans suit and a shapeless white hat.

Jack paused at a little distance up on the hill, and parleyed in a
stentorian voice with the boy in the mill.

"What's the reason ye air always tryin' ter toll off our old red muley
from our house?" he demanded angrily.

"I ain't never tried ter toll her off," said Andy Bailey. "She jes' kem
ter our house herself. I dunno ez I hev got enny call ter look arter
other folkses' stray cattle. Mind yer own cow."

"I hev got a mighty notion ter cut down that thar sapling,"--and Jack
pointed to a good-sized hickory-tree,--"an' wear it out on ye."

"I ain't afeard. Come on!" said Andy impudently, protected by his
innocence, and the fact of being the smaller of the two.

There was a pause. "Hev ye been a-huntin'?" asked Jack, beginning to be
mollified by the rare luxury of youthful and congenial companionship;
for this was a scantily settled region, and boys were few.

Andy nodded assent.

Jack walked down into the rickety mill, and stood leaning against the
rotten old hopper. "What did ye git?" he said, looking about for the
game.

"Waal