"Oh, Teague," she cried, "they uv killed him! They uv done killed my little Ab! Oh, Lordy! that mortal hain't a-livin' that he ever done any harm. What did they kill him for?" Then she turned to Woodward: "Oh, Mister, Mister! _please_ tell me what he done. _I'm_ the one that made the liquor, _I'm_ the one. Oh, Lordy! what did they kill little Ab for?" Teague Poteet dismounted from his horse, took the woman firmly but gently by the arm, and made her sit down by the side of the road. Then, when she was more composed, she told the story of finding her son's body. It was a terrible story to hear from the lips of the mother, but she grew quieter after telling it, and presently went on her way. The two men watched her out of sight. "I'll tell you what, Cap," said Teague, as he flung himself into the saddle, "they er houndin' airter us. They er 'buzin' the wimmin an' killin' the childern; stidder carryin' out the law, they er gwine about a-shootin' an' a-murderin'. So _fur, so good_. Well, now, lemme tell you: the hawk 'a done lit once too much in the chicken-lot. This is a free country. I hain't a-layin' no blame on you. Me an' Sis stood by you when the boys s'ore they wuz a-gwine to rattle you up. We made 'em behave the'rse'ves, an' I hain't a-blamin' you, but they er houndin' airter us, an' ef I wuz you I wouldn't stay on this hill nary 'nuther minnit longer than it 'ud take me to git offn it. When the boys git wind er this ongodly bizness, they ull be mighty hard to hol'. I reckon maybe you'll be a-gwine down about Atlanty. Well, you thes watch an' see what stan' the Govern_ment's_ gwineter take 'bout Ab Bonner, an' ef hit don't take no stan', you thes drap in thar an' tell 'em how you seed er ole man name Teague Poteet, an' _he_ 'lowed that the revenue fellers better not git too clost ter Hog Mountain, bekaze the hidin'-out bizness is done played. The law what's good enough fer pore little Ab Bonner is good enough fer the men what shot 'im." They rode on until they came to Poteet's house. "We'll thes go in an' git a snack," said Teague, "an' airter that your best gait is a gallop." But Woodward declined. He was dazed as well as humiliated, and he had no desire to face Sis Poteet. He pictured to himself the scorn and bitterness with which she would connect his presence on the Mountain with the murder of Ab Bonner, and he concluded to ride on to Gullettsville. He took Teague Poteet by the hand. "Good-bye, old man," he said; "I shall remember you. Tell Miss Sis--well, tell Miss Sis good-bye." With that he wheeled his horse and rode rapidly toward Gullettsville. It was a fortunate ride for him, perhaps. The wrath of Hog Mountain was mightily stirred when it heard of the killing of Ab Bonner, and Woodward would have fared badly at its hands. The wrath of others was stirred also. The unfortunate affair took the shape of a political issue, and thus the hands of justice were tied. But all this is a matter of history, and need not be dwelt upon.