“Ye better come, ye pieded cow-brute.” Picking up a cedar piggin, she stepped from the porch toward the meek voice that had answered her. Temper and exertion had brought the quick blood to her face. Her head was bare, her thick hair was loosely coiled, and her brown arms were naked almost to the shoulder. At the stable a young mountaineer was overhauling his riding-gear. “Air you goin' to ride the hoss to-day, Jas?” she asked, querulously. “That's jes whut I was aimin' to do. I'm a-goin' to town.” “Well, I 'lowed I was goin' to mill to-day. The co'n is 'mos' gone.” “Well, y'u 'lowed wrong,” he answered, imperturbably. “Y'u're mean, Jas Lewallen,” she cried, hotly; “that's whut ye air, mean--dog-mean!” The young mountaineer looked up, whistled softly, and laughed. But when he brought his horse to the door an hour later there was a bag of corn across the saddle. “As ye air so powerful sot on goin' to mill, whether or no, I'll leave this hyeh sack at the bend O' the road, 'n' ye kin git it thar. I'll bring the meal back ef ye puts it in the same place. I hates to see women-folks a-ridin' this horse. Hit spiles him.” The horse was a dapple-gray of unusual beauty, and as the girl reached out her hand to stroke his throat, he turned to nibble at her arm. “I reckon he'd jes as lieve have me ride him as you, Jas,” she said. “Me 'n' him have got to be great friends. Ye orter n't to be so stingy.” “Well, he ain't no hoss to be left out'n the bresh now, 'n' I hain't goin' to 'low it.” Old Jasper had lounged out of the kitchen door, and stood with his huge bulk against a shrinking pillar of the porch. The two men were much alike. Both had the same black, threatening brows meeting over the bridge of the nose. A kind of grim humor lurked about the old man's mouth, which time might trace about young Jasper's. The girl's face had no humor; the same square brows, apart and clearly marked, gave it a strong, serious cast, and while she had the Lewallen fire, she favored her mother enough, so the neighbors said, “to have a mighty mild, takin' way about her ef she wanted.” “You're right, Jas,” the old mountaineer said; “the hoss air a sin 'n' temptation. Hit do me good ever' time I look at him. Thar air no sech hoss, I tell ye, this side o' the settlements.” The boy started away, and the old man followed, and halted him out of the girl's hearing. “Tell Eli Crump 'n' Jim Stover to watch the Breathitt road close now,” he said, in a low voice. “See all them citizens I tol' ye, 'n' tell 'em to be ready when I says the word. Thar's no tellin' whut's goin' to happen.” Young Jasper nodded his head, and struck his horse into a gallop. The old man lighted his pipe, and turned back to the house. The girl, bonnet in hand, was starting for the valley. “Thar ain't no use goin' to Gabe Bunch's fer yer grist,” he said. “The mill on Dead Crick's a-runnin' ag'in, 'n' I don't want ye over thar axin favors, specially jes now.”