Suddenly he leaned forward with another exclamation. He had caught sight of a log cabin in the bottom of the ravine, half hidden by the bushes and low trees that grew upon the steep banks. Turning his horse, he rode slowly up and down for some distance, searching for an easy place to descend, coming back at last to the spot where he had first halted. "It's no go, Salem," he said; "we've got to slide for it," and dismounting, he took the bridle rein in his hand and began to pick his way as best he could, down the steep incline, while his four-footed companion reluctantly followed. After some twenty minutes of stumbling and swearing on the part of the man, and slipping and groaning on the part of the horse, they stood panting at the bottom. After a short rest, the man clambered into the saddle again, and fording a little mountain brook that laughed and sang and roared among the boulders, rode up to the clearing in which the cabin stood. "Hello!" he shouted. There was no answer, and but for the thread of smoke that curled lazily from the mud and stick chimney, the place seemed deserted. "Hello!" he called again. A gaunt hound came rushing from the underbrush beyond the house, and with hair bristling in anger, howled his defiance and threats. Again the horseman shouted, and this time the cabin door opened cautiously and a dirty-faced urchin thrust forth a tousled head. "Where's your father?" The head was withdrawn, and a moment later put forth again. "He's done gone ter th' corners." "Well, can you tell me the way to Simpson's? I don't know how to get out of this infernal hole." Again the head disappeared for a few seconds, and then the door was thrown wide open and a slovenly woman, with a snuff stick in one corner of her mouth, came out, followed by four children. The youngest three clung to her skirts and stared, with fearful eyes, at the man on the horse, while he of the tousled head threw stones at the dog and commanded him, in a shrill voice, to "shet up, dad burn ye Kinney, shet up. He's all right." "Wanter go ter Simpson's at the corners, do ye?" said the woman. "Wal, yer right smart offen yer road." "I know that," replied the stranger, impatiently; "I've been hunting turkeys and lost my way. But can't I get to the corners from here?" "Sure ye kin. Jes' foller on down the branch 'bout three mile till ye come out on the big road; hit'll take ye straight ter th' ford below ol' Ball whar' the lone tree is. Simpson's is 'bout half a quarter on yon side the creek." The man thanked her gruffly, and turning his horse, started away. "Be you'ns the feller what's stoppin' at Sim's ter hunt?" she called after him. "Yes, I'm the man," he answered, "Good-evening." And he rode into the bushes.