reckon mebby he couldn't," agreed Bas. "But ther thought jest
happened ter come ter me, an' he don't dwell but a whoop an' a holler
distant from Parish Thornton's house."

That same day, in pursuance of the thought "that just happened to come
to him," Bas took occasion to have a private meeting with the man for
whom "he didn't hev no manner of use," and to enter into an agreement
whereby Sim, if he took the place, was to draw double pay: one wage for
honest work and another as spy salary.

Three days later found Sim Squires sitting at the table in Parish
Thornton's kitchen, an employee in good and regular standing, though at
night he went back to his own cabin which was, in the words of his other
employer, "only jest a whoop an' a holler away."

Household affairs were to him an open book and of the movements of his
employer he had an excellent knowledge.

CHAPTER XXII

The earliest frost of late September had brought its tang to the air
with a snappy assertion of the changing season, when Parish Thornton
first broached to Dorothy an idea that, of late, had been constantly in
his mind. Somehow that morning with its breath of shrewd chill seemed to
mark a dividing line. Yesterday had been warm and languorous and the day
before had been hot. The ironweed had not long since been topped with
the dusty royalty of its vagabond purple, and the thistledown had
drifted along air currents that stirred light and warm.

"Honey," said the man, gravely, as he slipped his arm about Dorothy's
waist on that first cold morning, when they were standing together by
the grave of her grandfather, "I hain't talked much erbout hit--but I
reckon my sister's baby hes done hed hits bornin' afore now."

"I wonder," she mused, as yet without suspicion of the trend of his
suggestions, "how she come through hit--all by herself thetaway?"

The man's face twitched with one of those emotional paroxysms that once
in a long while overcame his self-command. Then it became a face of
shadowed anxiety and his voice was heavy with feeling.

"I've done been ponderin' thet day an' night hyar of late, honey. I've
got ter fare over thar an' find out."

Dorothy started and caught quickly at his elbow, but at once she removed
her hand and looked thoughtfully away.

"Kain't ye write her a letter?" she demanded. "Hit's walkin' right
inter sore peril fer ye ter cross ther state line, Cal."

"An' yit," he answered with convincing logic, "I'd ruther t