ung mare that the ranger rode strove to assert herself
against him now and then, as she went at a breakneck speed along the
sandy bridle-path through the woods. How was she to know that the
white-wanded young willow by the way-side was not some spiritual
manifestation as it suddenly materialized in a broken beam from a rift
in the clouds? But as she reared and plunged she felt his heavy hand
and his heavy heel, and so forward again at a steady pace. The forests
served to screen the strange light in the sky, and the lonely road was
dark, save where the moonbeam was splintered and the mists loitered.

Presently there were cinders flying in the breeze, a smell of smoke
pervaded the air, and the ranger forgot to curse the mare when she
stumbled.

"I wonder," he muttered, "what them no 'count half-livers o' town folks
hev hed the shiftlessness ter let ketch afire thar!"

As he neared the brink of the mountain he saw a dense column of smoke
against the sky, and a break in the woods showed the little town--the
few log houses, the "gyarden spots" about them, and in the centre of the
Square a great mass of coals, a flame flickering here and there, and two
gaunt and tottering chimneys where once the court-house had stood.
At some distance--for the heat was still intense--were grouped the
slouching, spiritless figures of the mountaineers. On the porches of the
houses, plainly visible in the unwonted red glow, were knots of women
and children--ever and anon a brat in the scantiest of raiment ran
nimbly in and out. The clouds still borrowed the light from below, and
the solemn, leafless woods on one side were outlined distinctly against
the reflection in the sky. The flare showed, too, the abrupt precipice
on the other side, the abysmal gloom of the valley, the austere
summit-line of the mountain beyond, and gave the dark mysteries of
the night a sombre revelation, as in visible blackness it filled the
illimitable space.

The little mare was badly blown as the ranger sprang to the ground. He
himself was panting with amazement and eagerness.

"The stray-book!" he cried. "Whar's the stray-book?"

One by one the slow group turned, all looking at him with a peering
expression as he loomed distorted through the shimmer of the heat above
the bed of live coals and the hovering smoke.

"Whar's the stray-book?" he reiterated, imperiously.

"Whar's the court-house, I reckon ye mean to say," replied the
sheriff--a burly mountaineer in