"Better give it up as a bad job, old hayseed," said another voice. "She's too slick for you--and I can't say I'm sorry, either. Way you've been goin' on here makes me think anyone'd be glad to dig out and run away from a chance to work for you." "Any lazy good-for-nothing like you would--yes," said Farmer Weeks, enraged by the taunt. "I make anyone that gits my pay or my vittles work--an' why shouldn't they? If you'd gone on, like I wanted you to, we'd have caught her." "We ain't workin' for you, an' we never will, neither," said the other man, laughing. "Better be careful how you start callin' us names, I can tell you. If you ain't you may go home with a few of them whiskers of your'n pulled out." "You shut your trap!" "Sure! I'd rather hear you talk, anyhow. You're so elegant and refined like. Makes me sorry I never went to collidge, so's I could talk that way, too." They couldn't make out what Farmer Weeks replied to that. He was so angry that he just mumbled his words, and didn't get them out properly. Zara was smiling, her eyes shining. But then the old farmer's voice rose loud and clear again, just as he passed the cave. "I'll git her yet," he said, vindictively. "I know what she's done, all right. She's gone traipsin' off with that passel of gals that Paw Hoover sold his garden truck to yesterday. I heard 'em laughin' and chatterin' back there on the road where I found her. She'll go runnin' back to 'em--and I'll show 'em, I will!" "Aw, you're all talk and no do," said the other man, contemptuously. "You talk big, but you don't do a thing." "I'll have the law on 'em. That gal's as good as mine for the time till she's twenty-one, an' I'll show 'em whether they can run off that way with a man's property. Guess even a farmer's got some rights--an' I can afford to pay for lawin' when I need it done." "I s'pose you can afford to pay us for runnin' off on this wild goose chase for you, then? Hey?" "Not a cent--not a cent!" they heard Farmer Weeks say, angrily. "I ain't a-goin' to give none of my good money that I worked for to any low-down shirkers like you--hey, what are you doin' there, tryin' to trip me up?" A chorus of laughter greeted his indignant question, but he seemed to take the hint, for the fugitives in the cave heard no more talk from him, although for some time after that the sounds in the direction the pursuers had taken on their return to the inn were plain enough. When the last sounds had died away, and they were quite sure that they were safe, for the time, at least, Bessie got up. "Suppose we follow this trail right up the way they went?" Bessie asked Jack. "Where will it bring us?" "To the top of the mountain," said Jack. "But if you want to go off that way I'll walk a way with you, and show you where you can strike off and come to another trail that will bring you out on the main road to Zebulon."