"Luther," he said, excitement shining in his blue eyes and the color rejuvenating his face, "ye know that Kenn'ston 'lows his southeast corner air at that boulder, 'known ez Big Hollow Boulder,'"--he quoted from the notice with a sneer,--"ez ef it could hev been known ez a peegeon-aig boulder or sech." Luther nodded in surprise. "Waal, he gins notice ez he begins thar." Luther nodded again in assent. "Waal, sir, that thar boulder hev been moved." The young man stared for a moment. Then a blank alarm settled on his face. "Why, dad, it's onpossible!" he exclaimed. "Kem an' see! Kem an' see." And Cap'n Lucy rode on as before. Luther was never sure whether he really came upon the old landmark earlier than he expected to see it, or whether the anticipation of something novel and incongruous colored his mind. There it was, presently, lying on the steep slope in the midst of the wilderness, as he had always known it,--a vast boulder, weighing many tons, with a cavity in it which almost pierced through its bulk, and was large enough to accommodate a man standing at full height. The slope above was bare, for it was near the bald of the mountain, and with outcropping ledges of rock; athwart these several trees were lying, one apparently old and lightning-scathed long ago, the others freshly storm-riven, for the winds had raged in a recent tempest, and instances of its fury were elsewhere visible in broken branches in the woods. "The wind couldn't hev done it," observed Luther, as his father pointed at the boulder with a wave of the hand. "Wind?--ye sodden idjit!" "'Pears like ter me it air whar it always war," said Luther, seeking refuge in conservatism from the hazards of conjecture. "Luther," said his father impressively, "I know that thar rock war the fust thing my gran'dad viewed in Tennessee, whenst he wagoned 'crost the range ter settle. I hev hearn him say that word time an' agin. He said he camped by it, 'count o' the spring close by, up over thar. I hev knowed it familiar fur better'n fifty year, an' I tell ye ez it useter war around the curve o' the bend o' the mounting up over thar, a-nigh the spring." "Hev ye viewed that spot lately?" asked Luther, drawing his horse to one side, and gazing blankly at the big hollow boulder. "Nuthin' ter view,--jes' rock an' laidges an' sech." "Why, dad, how could it hev kem down hyar?" demanded Luther. Old Cap'n Lucy broke into a high, derisive laugh. "Ax Mr. Kenn'ston; don't ax me. I ain't 'quainted with them things he talks 'bout by the yard medjure,--'splosives an' giant powder an' daminite." (Thus Cap'n Lucy profanely denominated a certain cogent compound.) "Enny one o' them would be ekal ter fetchin' the rock 'known ez Big Hollow Boulder' down hyar whar he wants it to be." "Whut fur, dad?" demanded Luther.