For a moment there was only the noise of the katydids, backgrounded and enfolded by the deep silence of the great mountains. Then someone broke out into what was evidently a forced laugh, a long-drawn, girding, mirthless haw-haw, the laboured insult of which stung Creed into a certain resentment of demeanour. "What's the joke?" he inquired dryly, turning toward Taylor Stribling. But Stribling had silently melted away among the shadows of distant trees along the trail. It was Blatchley Turrentine who stood before him thrusting forward a jeering face in the uncertain half light, while three vaguely defined forms moved and shouldered behind him. The apparition was sinister, but if Blatch looked for demonstrations of fear he was disappointed. "What's the joke?" Creed repeated. "I couldn't hold in when I heared your pretty talk," drawled Blatch, setting his hands on his hips and barring the way. "Whar might you be a-goin', Mr. Creed Bonbright?" "Home," returned Creed briefly. "Get out of my road, and I'll be obliged to you." "Yo' road--_yo'_ road!" echoed Blatch. "Well, young feller, besides this here road runnin' acrosst the south eend o' the property that I've rented on a five-year lease, ef so be that yo're a-goin' to Nancy Cyard's house this is a mighty curious direction for you to be travellin' in." "I was told it was a short cut," said Bonbright controlling his temper. A man who was justice of the peace, going home to get ready to try a case on the morrow, must not embroil himself. "Good Lord!" scoffed Blatch. "You claim to be mountain raised, and tell me you think this is a short cut from whar you was at to Nancy Cyard's? I reckon you'll have to make up another tale." Bonbright became suddenly aware that he was surrounded, two of the men who were with Turrentine having slipped past him and appearing now as blots of blacker shadow against the trees on either side of the path by which he had come. Turrentine and the remaining man barred the way ahead; on the one side was the sheer descent of the bluff; on the other the rough, broken rise. It was like a bad dream. With his usual forthright directness he spoke out. "What is it you want of me--all of you? This meeting never came about by chance." Blatch shook his head. "Yo' mighty right it didn't," he said. "Me an' the boys has a word to speak with you, and when we ketch you walkin' on our land in the middle o' the night--with whatever intentions--we think the time has come for talkin'." "Andy! Jeff! Is that you?" Creed, the rash, called over his shoulder to the two behind him. An inarticulate growl answered, and then a boyish voice began, "Yo' mighty free with folks' names, you Creed Bonbright. Me and my brother both told you what we thought o' you when you come to the jail. I told you then you'd be run out of the Turkey Tracks ef you tried to come up here. We don't want no spies."