the
best of those big boys. It is surprising how easy the seemingly hard
things are after you have learned to do them."

Shortly after sunrise the following morning, Mr. Rogers and Cornwall
said good-bye to their host and his family and rode off down the creek.

They had gone but a short distance when they overtook Mary and Susie on
their way to school. They rode slowly keeping pace with the walking
girls.

"Mr. Cornwall and I feel we should make our excuses for the additional
labor our visit has caused you."

"We are glad you stopped over at our home. The life is lonely at times
and the face and talk of a stranger break the monotony. Besides Mr.
Cornwall helped me with my studies. I hope when you pass this way you
will find time to stop again."

"I doubt if I shall come, but Mr. Cornwall, who is to be our local
attorney at Harlan, must return in a week or so to supervise the Brock
and Helton surveys and will be making occasional trips to Pineville.
After he becomes a better horseman you may see him occasionally riding
on his own saddle horse, comfortably seated on a hard saddle and
carrying his clothing and papers in a pair of saddle bags. Now he finds
the trip tiresome, later he will find the ride exhilarating and your
house a convenient resting place; am I right Cornwall?"

"I desire to express my thanks and shall be glad of any opportunity to
stop and see you again."

"Here we are at the Salt Trace road; you follow it over the mountain to
the river, then up the river valley to Poor Fork which you cross almost
within sight of the town. Goodbye to both and good luck to Judge
Cornwall; come again."

Their road after crossing the mountains was up the Cumberland Valley,
hemmed in on the north by the gracefully sloping spurs of Pine Mountain
and flanked on the south by the more rugged and closely encroaching
Cumberland mountains.

The river gurgles and murmurs and surges along over a bottom of boulders
or lies restfully placid over a bottom of sand. In these pool-like
reaches many large rocks, shaken from the mountain tops in ages past,
lift their gray heads high above the water and give to the scene a touch
of rugged grandeur.

The water is so clear that the natives climb into the overhanging elms
or sycamores, or lie peering down from a jutting rock and do their
fishing with a Winchester.

About ten o'clock the travelers crossed the Poor Fork and fifteen
minutes later rode into Harlan Town; and to the of