He advanced with perfect ease--the ease of a wild thing walking at will--and the smile that illumined his face made it almost handsome. Absorbed even as the Colonel and Bob were in their own mission, and surprised by this unexpected interruption, they exchanged glances at his rather correct form of speech. Several times the evening before Colonel May had been impressed by this, and had thought of it after getting into bed, determining then to speak of it in the morning. So, recurring to him now, he said in an undertone: "That fellow knows how to talk well." "He does, and he doesn't," Bob replied. "Jane and I were speaking of it last night. If you'll notice, when he gets excited, or much interested, he's like a typical mountaineer. Only when careful is it otherwise. He's a funny cuss, but, gee, Colonel, look at that power! I'll bet he can run a hundred miles without turning a hair!" The figure was almost up to them. "There isn't anything to shoot," he said again, with a meaning smile of confidence. "What are you hunting, sir?" the Colonel asked, after a polite exchange of greetings. Dale looked at them and chuckled. It was a sign of comradeship, of fellowship; the sort of chuckle in which two boys might indulge if, having entered a jam closet from opposite sides and each unknown to the other, they suddenly meet face to face. "I'm huntin' the same sort of game you-all air, I reckon," he remarked, pushing back his hat. "But it's gone." "Squirrels?" The mountaineer regarded them with something pathetic in his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was tinged with disappointment. "Last night," he said, "I thought ye war both my friends--'n' I war a-ready ter be yourn. Why do ye want ter lie ter me?" A flush of anger spread over their faces, and the Colonel was framing a scorching retort, when Dale continued: "No, hit hain't squir'ls; hit's that varmint Tusk Potter. I hain't afeerd ter tell. His shack's back thar;" jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "or, I'd ought ter say, what's left of hit's thar. He's gone." "Did you kill him?" the Colonel asked, looking squarely into his eyes. "That hain't jest a question one man ought ter be askin' of another man," he quickly answered. "But as hit turned out, I didn't kill him; 'n' I didn't mean ter. I kind of swore off killin' folks when I war a kid, 'n' hain't done hit much since. But I did mean ter run him outen the country, 'n' burn his cabin. If he'd ruther've stayed 'n' got kilt, that war his business." By a common impulse the three started back, Dale leading them some half a mile when they dismounted and threaded their way along an obscure trail. This led up a deep ravine, through which trickled the South Fork of Blacksnake Creek, and eventually brought them out at a small clearing. In the center smouldered the ruins of a cabin, with a few fitful flames still spurting from the ashes and charred log ends.