Just then his quick ear caught the sound of stumbling, hurried footsteps, plainly not a mountaineer's, down in the rough woodland, below. Instantly his muscles tautened, instantly he brought his rifle to position; but he soon let it fall again and smiled, perhaps, for the first time that day. "Lawsy! Lawsy!" he could hear a scared voice muttering. "Lawsy, I is los', fo' suah!" His smile broadened to a wide, malicious grin of satisfaction. The black messenger who had been started with the news, evidently had not fared well upon the way, and was, but now, arriving. "It's that nigger wanderin' around up hyar," he mused. And then: "I'm goin' to have some fun with him." Silently he slipped down the path by which he had so recently ascended, and, at a good distance from the cabin, but still well in advance of the unhappy negro, hid behind a rock, awaiting his approach. Old Neb, advancing, scared tremendously, was talking to himself in a loud, excited voice. "Oh, golly!" he exclaimed. "Dis am a pretty fix for a bluegrass cullud gemman! Dis am a pretty fix--los', los' up heah, in de midst of wolves an' painters!" Joe, from behind his rock, wailed mournfully in startling imitation of a panther's call. The darkey almost fell prone in his fright. "Name o' goodness!" he exclaimed. "Wha' dat? Oh--oh--dere's a painter, now!" Joe called again, more mournfully, more ominously than before. Neb's fright became a trembling panic. "Hit's a-comin' closer!" he exclaimed. "I feel as if de debbil's gwine ter git me!" He stooped and started on a crouching run directly toward the rock behind which Joe was hiding. As the old man would have passed, Joe jumped out from his ambush, and, bringing his right hand down heavily upon the darky's shoulder, emitted a wild scream, absolutely terrifying in its savage ferocity. With a howl Neb dropped upon his knees, praying in an ecstasy of fear. "Oh, good Mister Painter, good Mister Debbil--" he began. Inasmuch as he was not devoured upon the instant, he finally ventured to look up and Joe laughed loudly. So great was the relief of the old negro that he did not think of anger. A sickly smile spread slowly on his face. "De Lawd be praised!" he said. "Why, hit's a man!" "Reckon I am," said Joe. "Generally pass for one." Then, although he knew quite well just why the man had come, from whom, for whom, he asked sternly to confuse him: "What _you_ doin' in these mountings?" "I's lookin' fo' my massa, young Marse Frank Layson, suh," Neb answered timidly. "You needn't to go fur to find him," Lorey answered bitterly. "You needn't to go fur to find him." The old negro looked at him, puzzled and frightened by his grim tone and manner. "Why--why--" he began. "Is it hereabouts he hunts fo' deer? He wrote home he was findin' good spo't in the mountains, huntin' deer."