"Jim Whitley," returned the other, taking a long careful look up the valley. "An' whar' from?" "Sim say St. Louie, or some place like that. Sh--thar' he comes." They half rose and crouching behind the log, pushed the cocked rifles through the leaves of a little bush, covering the horseman below. "If he's a revenoo he'll sure see th' path ter th' still," whispered the one called Jake; "an' if he turns ter foller hit into th' cut drap him. If he goes on down th' branch, all right." All unconscious of the rifles that wanted only the touch of an outlaw's finger to speak his death, the stranger pushed on his way past the unseen danger point toward the end of the valley where lay the road. The lean mountaineers looked at each other. "Never seed hit," said one, showing his yellow teeth in a mirthless grin; "an' I done tole Cap las' night, hit was es plain es er main traveled road an' orter be kivered." "Mebbe so," replied the other; "an' then agin he mighter ketched on an' 'lows ter fool us." The other sprang up with an oath. "We uns aint got no call ter take chances," he growled; "best make sure." And with his rifle half raised, he looked anxiously along the trail, but the stranger had passed from view. A few minutes longer they waited and watched, discussing the situation; then returning to the mules, they rode out of the little gully and on down the branch in the direction the object of their suspicion had taken. Just across the road from the mouth of the ravine down which the hunter had come, was a little log cabin, and in the low doorway an old woman sat smoking a cob pipe. "Howdy Liz," said one of the men, "Seed anythin'?" "Yep," returned the woman. "He done ast th' way ter Simpson's. 'Low'd he'd been huntin' turkey an' lost hisself. I done tole him he orter git someone ter tromp 'roun' with him er he might git killed." She laughed shrilly and the two men joined in with low guffaws. "Reckon yer right, Liz," said one. "Jake, why don't ye hire out ter him." Jake slapped his leg. "By gum," he exclaimed, "that thar's a good ide'. I shor' do hit. An' I'll see that he don't find nothin' bigger'n turkey too; less'n he's too durned inquisitive; then I'll be--." He finished with an evil grin. "You all tell Cap I've done gone ter hunt with Mistah Whitley ef I don't show up." And beating his mule's ribs vigorously with his heels, he jogged away down the road, while his companion turned and rode back up the little valley.