chair by the door the conversation ran laggingly between
these two newly met sons of a taciturn race, yet beneath their almost
morose paucity of words lay an itch of curiosity. They were gauging,
measuring, estimating each other under wary mantles of indifference.

Rowlett set down in his appraisement, with a touch of scorn, the
clean-shaven face and general neatness of the other, but as against this
effeminacy he offset the steady-eyed fearlessness of gaze and the smooth
power of shoulders and torso that he had seen stripped.

Maggard's rifle stood leaning against the chinked log wall near to the
visitor's hand and lazily he lifted and inspected it, setting its
heel-plate to his shoulder and sighting the weapon here and there.

"Thet rifle-gun balances up right nice," he approved, then seeing a red
squirrel that sat chattering on a walnut tree far beyond the road he
squinted over the sights and questioned musingly, "I wonder now, could I
knock thet boomer outen thet thar tree over yon."

"Not skeercely, I reckon. Hit's a kinderly long, onhandy shot," answered
Maggard, "but ye mout try, though."

Rowlett had hoped for such an invitation. He knew that it was more than
an "unhandy" shot. It was indeed a spectacularly difficult one--but he
knew also that he could do it twice out of three times, and he was not
averse to demonstrating his master-skill.

The rifle barked and the squirrel dropped, shot through the head, but
Maggard said nothing and Rowlett only spat and set the gun down.

After that he relighted his pipe. Had this newcomer from across the
Virginia border been his peer in marksmanship, he reasoned, he would not
have let the exploit rest there without contest, and his own competitive
spirit prompted him to goad the obviously inferior stranger.

"Thar's an old cock-of-the woods hammerin' away atter grubs up yon," he
suggested. "Why don't ye try yore own hand at him--jest fer ther fun of
ther thing?"

He pointed to a dead tree-top perhaps ten yards more distant than his
own target had been, where hung one of those great ivory-billed
woodpeckers that are near extinction now except in the solitudes of
these wild hills.

Maggard smiled again, as he shook his head noncommittally--yet he
reached for the rifle. That silent smile of his was beginning to become
provocative to his companion, as though in it dwelt something of quiet
self-superiority.

The weapon came to the stranger's shoulder with a cat-like qu