“Hit shore is,” asseverated Billy, coming up red-faced and panting. “We war a-headin’ the cow critter this way when we seen the fire a-bustin’ out’n the roof. Hit’s—” But Dan had not waited to hear more. He was sprinting in the direction of the schoolhouse like a boy. His children watched him for a moment in open-mouthed astonishment at such unheard-of alacrity on their father’s part, then followed. A good quarter of a mile brought him in plain sight of the burning building, where he could plainly see the futility of further effort. The little schoolhouse was a mass of flame, but the old, well-seasoned logs would burn for hours yet. Fortunately the heavy shower of the morning prevented the flames from spreading, the weeds and bushes had been so thoroughly cleared away. Only the sentinel pine at the back of the cabin was doomed. Sudie clung to her father, sobbing wildly. “What’ll Tally say? We can’t never go to school no more,” she wailed. “Hesh, honey, hit don’t do no good ter take on thet a-way,” urged Dan. “Somebody must hev been mighty keerless with matches or the like ter hev fired hit. I reckoned Tally’d hed more sense.” “Hit warn’t her,” Billy burst out, anxious to vindicate his teacher. “Hit war thet Jake Simcox, I’ll be boun’. Jest as we hove in sight of the place I seen him a-scootin’ fer the pines like a painter war after him.” “The low-down, sneakin’ varmint! Thet’s jest who did hit, and he ’lowed not ter git ketched in the night time. He’ll git larned better. The dark’ll kiver a heap o’ things, but no sech deed as this.” All the fierceness that lies smouldering in the nature of the average mountain man leaped into as fierce a flame as that consuming the little schoolhouse. His younger children’s opportunities had been snatched from them by this miscreant. He should not escape—a swift, deserved punishment should be meted out to this offender as only mountain men could measure it. “Run home, Sudie, and tell your mammy she’ll hev ter tend ter the cow critter ter-night, me and Billy won’t be back fer a spell. Thar’s a heap ter be done before mornin’.” His father’s ominous tone startled Billy. It brought to memory stories he had heard of the Twilliger and Amyx feuds—his mother was a Twilliger. He trembled. “Son,” said Dan as Sudie disappeared, “do you ’low you can make the Coyle place ter-night?” “I reckon so,” answered Billy, bravely trying to forget that it was long past his supper time. Mountain justice never waited on hunger. “Clip up thar and back as soon as you kin, and tell Sam Coyle fer me, thet we shall expect ter see him at the Forks ter-morrow mornin’ by light, ter hunt varmints. They may hev left the kentry, but we’ll smoke ’em out if they’re ter be found. Kin you remember?” “Yes, Pappy” “Well, I’m goin’ ter the Twilligers. I kin git the boys ter push on to the Settlemint, and then the news’ll carry fast enough, I reckon,” and father and son parted.