when Isom became bedfast, the big mountaineer, who had never handled
anything but a horse, a plough, or a rifle, settled him-self, to the
bewilderment of the Stetsons, into the boy's duties, and nobody dared
question him. Even old Gabe jested no longer. The matter was too
serious.

Meanwhile the winter threw off the last slumbrous mood of autumn, as a
sleeper starts from a dream. A fortnight was gone, and still no message
came from the absent leader. One shore was restive, uneasy; the other
confident, mocking. Between the two, Rome Stetson waited his chance at
the mill.

VIII.

DAY was whitening on the Stetson shore. Across the river the air was
still sharp with the chill of dawn, and the mists lay like flocks of
sheep under shelter of rock and crag. A peculiar cry radiated from the
Lewallen cabin with singular resonance on the crisp air-the mountain cry
for straying cattle. A soft low came from a distant patch of laurel, and
old Jasper's girl, Martha, folded her hands like a conch at her mouth,
and the shrill cry again startled the air.

"Ye better come, ye pieded cow-brute." Picking up a cedar piggin, she
stepped from the porch toward the meek voice that had answered her.
Temper and exertion had brought the quick blood to her face. Her head
was bare, her thick hair was loosely coiled, and her brown arms were
naked almost to the shoulder. At the stable a young mountaineer was
overhauling his riding-gear.

"Air you goin' to ride the hoss to-day, Jas?" she asked, querulously.

"That's jes whut I was aimin' to do. I'm a-goin' to town."

"Well, I 'lowed I was goin' to mill to-day. The co'n is 'mos' gone."

"Well, y'u 'lowed wrong," he answered, imperturbably.

"Y'u're mean, Jas Lewallen," she cried, hotly; "that's whut ye air,
mean--dog-mean!"

The young mountaineer looked up, whistled softly, and laughed. But when
he brought his horse to the door an hour later there was a bag of corn
across the saddle.

"As ye air so powerful sot on goin' to mill, whether or no, I'll leave
this hyeh sack at the bend O' the road, 'n' ye kin git it thar. I'll
bring the meal back ef ye puts it in the same place. I hates to see
women-folks a-ridin' this horse. Hit spiles him."

The horse was a dapple-gray of unusual beauty, and as the girl reached
out her hand to stroke his throat, he turned to nibble at her arm.

"I reckon he'd jes as lieve have me ride him as you, Jas," she said.
"Me 'n' him have got to be great friend