By three o'clock the party reached Cather Springs, which was nothing but the home of an old mountaineer--a quaint little log cabin, a barn, and a corral, in which stood two very patient, tired-looking donkeys and a large, raw-boned mountain horse. A little to one side of the cabin stood the spring house--a low, rustic affair, built of young trees. A slab-door stood slightly ajar, and through the opening there came the voice of a woman, softly singing to herself. A thin column of gray smoke was curling gently from the rough stone chimney. At one side of the house, in the shade of a great pine tree, was nestled a little flower garden that gave every sign of having had careful attention each day. On the back stoop was stretched out, at full length, a husky Collie dog. He was evidently asleep, for he did not stir as the boys came down the trail toward the picturesque little cabin. "Great Caesar's ghost!" exclaimed Ham. "Take a peep at a few of those jay-birds. I never saw so many in my life. I'll bet the lady feeds them. Watch me knock that saucy fellow off that dead limb." He raised his gun and shot. There was an awful scolding, jabbering, and flapping of wings, but no deaths--fortunately for Ham. The dog came to life in less than a second, and expressed himself freely on the imprudence of such an interruption to his mid-day nap. Likewise, the spring-house door suddenly opened and out popped a funny, little old lady. "Boys, boys!" she called in a high, quavering voice, "don't shoot the blue jays. It does beat all how right-down destructive all boys are, anyway--shooting poor, harmless little birds for sport." The jays, on hearing the familiar voice of their benefactress, began to alight in twos and threes close by, and approved her every word with as much vigor as their tiny throats could command. The little old lady came straight toward Ham.