“Yes,” he assented in a debonair way which caused Marvin to look at him in lowering amazement, “I’m Mink’s lawyer, but I couldn’t testify for him. I couldn’t swear of my own knowledge that this Tad is the same boy, for I never saw him before.” Both of the men lapsed into the attitude of laborious pondering. Now and then each looked at the other, as if to descry some intimation of the mutual effect. Harshaw, with another bold effort to possess the situation, yawned widely and stretched his muscles. “Oh—oh—oh—oh!” he exclaimed on a steadily descending scale. “Well, gentlemen,” his features once more at rest, his voice normal, “I should be glad to continue our conversation to-morrow”—he waved his hand bluffly—“or next week. I ain’t used to huntin’,—that is, huntin’ deer,—and I’m in and about knocked up. If you’ve got anything to say to me, say it now, or keep it till to-morrow.” The two looked doubtfully at each other. “Mr. Harshaw,” said Marvin, “we-uns air feared to let you-uns go.” “Go to sleep?” asked Harshaw jocosely. Jeb grinned, weakly, however, and Marvin continued:— “Ter go ’way at all.” “Well,” said Harshaw, easily, with another demonstration of somnolence, “I’ll stay just as long as you like; you’re a clever lot of fellows, and I’ll be contented enough, I’ll be bound. Your sitting up all night is the only fault I’ve got to find with you.” They apparently submitted this answer from one to the other, and each silently canvassed it. “Ye know too much,” said “hongry Jeb.” “I’ll know more if I stay. I’ll find out whether you _are_ moonshining now, sure enough, and where the still is.” “That’s jes’ what I hev been tellin’ ye!” cried Mrs. Marvin’s shrill voice from the ladder. “Shet up, M’ria!” exclaimed Marvin, before “hongry Jeb” could interpose his pacifying “Shet up, Sam.” “Waal,” resumed Marvin, in angry perturbation, “it’s mighty ill-convenient, yer nosin’ us out this way, up hyar, an’ many a man fixed like me an’ Jeb would fling ye off’n a bluff, ez ef ye hed fell thar, an’ turn yer mare loose.” Once more Harshaw’s rich, round laughter jarred the room. “I’m in earnest,” said Marvin, sternly. “That’s what most men would do.” “Oh no, they wouldn’t,” said Harshaw, cavalierly. “Why wouldn’t they?” demanded Marvin, his curiosity aroused by this strange indifference. “Because these fellows I was hunting with will be sure to find this place, and _they_ would know I wouldn’t go fall off a bluff of my own accord, after such a good supper as I had here, and such a good bed. They wouldn’t know I wasn’t allowed to sleep in it, though, on account of a long-jawed couple like you two.” He looked the picture of unconcern,—as if he had not really credited their words. “They couldn’t track ye hyar,” argued Jeb; “ground too dry in the evening fur yer critter’s huffs to make enny mark.”