Jim Whitley, enraged at Frank's failure to rescue the papers held by Dick, and alarmed by the latter's letter telling him of young Goodrich's confession, had come into the wild backwoods district to await developments. He was more determined now than ever, to gain possession of the evidence of his crime, and in his heart was a fast-growing desire to silence, once for all, the man whose steady purpose and integrity was such an obstacle in his life. But he could see no way to accomplish his purpose without great danger to himself; and with the memory of the gray eyes that had looked so calmly along the shining revolvers that night in the printing office, was a wholesome respect for the determined character of the man who had coolly proposed to die with him if he did not grant his demands. He feared that should Dick find Amy and learn the truth, he would risk his own life rather than permit him to go unpunished, and so he resolved to bury himself in the mountains until chance should reveal a safe way out of the difficulty, or time change the situation. The afternoon of the day following his adventure in the little valley, Whitley sat on the porch of the post office and store kept by his host, telling his experience to a group of loafers, when the long mountaineer called Jake, rode up to the blacksmith shop across the street. Leaving his mule to be shod, the native joined the circle just in time to hear the latter part of Whitley's story. "Lookin' fer turkey, war ye Mister?" asked Jake, with a wink at the bystanders. "Yes, have you seen any?" replied Jim. "Sure, the bresh's full of 'em ef ye know whar' ter hunt." The company grinned and he continued: "I seed signs this mo'nin' in th' holler on yon side ol' Ball, when I war' huntin' my mule. An' thar's a big roost down by th' spring back of my place in th' bottoms." Whitley was interested. "Will you show me where they are?" he asked. "Might ef I could spar' th' time," replied Jake slowly; "but I've got my craps ter tend." Another grin went the rounds. "Jake's sure pushed with his craps," remarked one; "Raises mo' corn, 'n 'ary three men in Arkansaw," remarked another, and with this they all fired a volley of tobacco juice at a tumble bug rolling his ball in the dust near by. Needless to say, the conversation resulted in Whitley's engaging the moonshiner for seventy-five cents a day, to hunt with him; and for the next two weeks they were always together.