"Pore boy--he liked me so much 'at he even named hisself atter me," he choked. "And me--I've treated him like a dawg. Alex, I want ye to do me a big favor. Will ye do it?" Singleton nodded in the pitchy gloom. "I promise, o' course. Anything on earth." "Then," Old Buck said shakily, "I want ye to git a mule-killin' hick'ry club, and beat me mighty nigh it to death on my sore back fo' a-bein' what I've been and a-doin' what I've done. Hurry, Alex. I look to ye to keep yore promise." "I won't do it!" "You shorely wouldn't be a liar fo' me, Alex!" surprisedly. "I'd be a durned sight more'n that fo' you, Buck, old feller!" "By God!" exclaimed Old Buck Wolfe, amazed. "Whar," he asked a moment later, "is Little Buck at?" "He's jest started on foot through the mountains fo' Virginny," the Singleton leader answered. "He traded me his hoss and saddle and watch fo' a rifle and two hunderd ca'tridges, two blankets, a supply o' grub, a fryin' pan and some tools to eat with, and forty dollars in money. Atter things sawt o' blows over, he'll git on a train thar in Virginny, and go away off to the No'thwest, whar he's a-goin' to make his forchune and pay back all 'at was lost in the fire." [Illustration] To old Alex, it seemed a very long time before Wolfe spoke again. "Alex, I want to ax ye about somethin'. It's bothered me a heap. A few weeks ago, I found a little cross cut in the ground afore my still, and another one cut in the bark of a tree, and yit another one cut on my cabin floor. Do ye know how come it them crosses was thar?" "It was pap," Singleton explained. "He takes spells o' wanderin' in his mind, ye know. He cut 'em a night or two afore you found 'em, and them at the still he'd covered wi' leaves so's you wouldn't see 'em ontel he'd oncovered 'em. Pap is a pow'ful feller to plan ahead, pore old feller. Well, I'll go now, Buck, but I'll be back at the fust good chanst. You be keerful!" When his friend had gone, Wolfe crept out of the cavern to get away from the tormenting black stillness. The stars were brighter than ever, and a thin veil of frost had settled down over the ashes of the great fires. The deep mystery of the mountain night was everywhere; it awed Old Buck, and for minutes on end he stood as motionless as the blackened tree-shafts about him. He came to himself with a jerk---- "Robbin' the safe," he mumbled, "he never done it. It was hatched up ag'in him." He went down to the little whisky still that his own hands had built and operated. The mash-tubs and the copper boiler and worm were all white with frost. He touched the boiler, and felt that it was a contaminating thing--it stung him. There welled up in his bosom a great hatred for it. "It was you," he said bitterly, "'at made me do what I done. And when I gits through wi' you, you ain't a-goin' to look nothin' at all like yoreself!"