The girl hurried back to the door, and leaned out again, her head slightly bent, one hand lifted to her ear in a listening attitude. A gust of wind swept down the black serried peaks, so high above the small cabin, so sharply cut against the starlit sky, hurrying on its erratic course to the valley. The cow munched dry corn husks in a corner of the fence, and Kit, the mule, pawed restlessly at the stable door. But none of those sounds had disturbed Mrs. Cole, roused that fear in her. Far away Silury heard the steady beat of hoofs upon the dry, hard road, as of a horse newly shod, and urged to his utmost speed. "I ’low it’s only somebody ridin’ fer the doctor," she said soothingly, but a line, drawn by keenest anxiety, appeared between her dark brows. The sound came upward from the valley, not downward from the mountains. It drew nearer each moment, bringing glad or evil tidings to some lone dweller on the heights, for no one ever traveled over the mountains in that way simply for the pleasure of it. How swift, how steady, fell the iron-shod feet upon the earth! now clear and distinct, as they passed along a ridge, now almost lost as they plunged into a ravine. The big liver-colored hound, lying on the doorstep, stood up, sniffed the air, and howled mournfully. "It may be the raiders," muttered Mrs. Cole restlessly. "Or somebody’s dead, an’ they er comin’ fer their folks," said Silury in awed tones. She could hear the heavy panting of the horse, as, with slackened gait, he came up the hollow below the house, and see an outline of the rider as they turned the lot fence; then, as they crossed the narrow path of light projected from the doorway beyond the low yard fence, she recognized a valley neighbor. He scarcely halted, as he excitedly cried: "Silury, the raiders got yer pa—took him over in Jimson’s Brake, along with Peleg White, an’ one o’ the Davis boys. They’ll pass Buckhorn Springs to-night." And then he went on his way, to carry the sad news to more remote habitations; and great silence seemed to fall upon the mountain-side. Silury and her mother looked speechlessly at one another, then Mrs. Cole passed a trembling hand confusedly over her face. "What all did he say, Silury? It ’pears to me my understandin’ ain’t quite clear to-night." "He said—" she caught her breath in a sob. "Oh, ma! the raiders have took pa; what shall we do, what shall we do? Poor pa! it will kill him to be put in prison!" in a burst of despairing anguish. Mrs. Cole crouched lower in her chair. "I knew it would come. I’ve been a-feelin’ it here for a long time—a long time," one thin hand groping for her heart. "Yes, he’ll pine fer his freedom an’ the mountings when he’s shut up in jail. Oh, I’ve begged him not to be a moonshiner—not to make whiskey on the sly. They all have to suffer fer it sooner or later." Her wandering, tearful eyes fell on the waiting supper. "How hungry he must be!"