hutta Valley to interfere
with the moonshiners," he answered. "Whiskey-makin' is agin the law,
but many a family gits its livin' out o' the stuff, an' a few good
citizens keep the'r eyes shet to it. You see, Mr. Westerfelt, the gang
may be a little down on you anyway sence your difficulty with Wambush.
Did you know that he wus a sort of a ring-leader amongst 'em?"

"Yes."

"Well, you mark my word, that feller'd swear his chances of heaven away
to turn them mount'in men agin you."

"Most of them are good-hearted fellows" replied Westerfelt. "They
won't harm me."

Washburn sat down on his bed, pulled off his shoes, and dropped them on
the puncheon floor.

"But he's got the'r ear, an' you hain't, Mr. Westerfelt. He'd grab at
a chance like this an' you'd never be able to disprove anything.
Toot's got some unprincipled friends that 'ud go any length to help him
in rascality."

The next morning before the revenue men had left with their prisoners
and the confiscated whiskey for the town where the trial before an
inspector was to take place, a number of mountaineers had gathered in
the village. They stood about the streets in mysterious groups and
spoke in undertones, and now and then a man would go to the jail window
and confer with the prisoners through the bars. Several men had been
summoned to attend the trial as witnesses, and others went out of
curiosity or friendship for the accused.

That evening, as John Westerfelt was passing through the hall of the
hotel to the dining-room, he met Harriet Floyd. She started when she
saw him, and he thought she acted as if she wanted to speak to him, but
just then some other boarders entered, and she turned from him
abruptly. She sat opposite him at the table a few moments later, but
she did not look in his direction.

On his return to the stable after supper, Washburn gave him a letter.
He recognized Sue Dawson's handwriting on the envelope.

"Is it a order?" asked Washburn, thinking it concerned the business.

"No, no; from a--a friend." Westerfelt lighted a candle at the wick of
Washburn's lantern and went up to his room. He put the candle on a
little table and sat down by it.

"I'll never read another line from that woman," he said. "I can't.
She'll run me crazy! I've suffered enough."

He threw the letter unopened on the table, and clasped his hands over
his knee and sat motionless for several minutes. Then he picked up the
letter and held one corner