As nearly as Hippy could make it out a mountain feud was in the making, and the twenty-third of the month was the time set for the opening. He heard the names "Bat Spurgeon" and "Jed Thompson" mentioned, but they conveyed nothing to him beyond the mere names. The voices of his captors and his own weariness finally lulled Lieutenant Wingate to sleep, and he slept for hours. He was awakened late in the day by being roughly shaken and a cup of water thrust into his hands. "I thank you for this bounteous repast," said Hippy mockingly. "Is this the water cure you are giving me?" "Oh, shut up!" growled the mountaineer, and went away leaving Hippy gazing after him, a sardonic grin on the Overland Rider's face. Hippy was aching all over his body as darkness settled over the forest, marking the second night of his captivity. With it came the cook fire and again the agonizing odors of coffee and bacon. With it, too, came something else--a low, guarded voice behind him and, seemingly, only a few inches from his ear. "Don't make a sound, Lieutenant." "Who are you?" demanded Hippy, without in the least changing his position or showing excitement. "You would not know if I told you. Listen to me. When those two fellows sit down to supper, the light of the fire will be in their eyes, and, unless they get up and stare, they will not be able to see you in this shadow. If everything is safe I will cut you loose. Are your feet bound?" "Yes. Who are you?" "You wouldn't know if I told you, I said. Keep quiet and speak only in answer to my questions." "All right. Got anything loose about your person--I mean food, man-sized food, not canary-bird rations such as those bandits have been doling out to me?" "You can't have anything now. After we have gotten away from here I will try to dig up a snack for you. Silence!" For the next several minutes neither the prisoner nor his mysterious friend uttered a word. Supper was ready for the mountaineers, but, before sitting down to it, one of them walked over to the prisoner and stood peering down at him. Hippy's heart almost stopped beating, so intent was he on listening for the breathing of the man behind him and from his fear that his mysterious friend might be discovered. No such emergency arose, nor did he hear the breathing he was listening for. After satisfying himself that the captive was safe, the mountaineer returned to the fire and sat down to his supper. Hippy felt a slight tug on the rope that bound him, then its pressure about his waist was released. "Steady, now," warned that even voice behind him. "Crawl on all fours." The rescuer placed a hand on Hippy's shoulder and guided him slowly, cautiously, every movement forward threatening to draw a groan from the released captive. "Now get up! Give me your hand," whispered, the stranger. "Don't speak."