"King" Plummer's was not a mind trained to look upon the more delicate shades of life--he dealt rather with the obvious; but when he saw Harley and Sylvia he knew. Mrs. Grayson's warning, which at first he had only half accepted, had come true, and it had come quickly. His instant impulse was that of the primitive man to raise his fist and strike down this foolish, this presumptuous youth who had dared to cross the path of him, the King of the Mountains; but he did not raise it, because "King" Plummer was a gentleman; instead, he strove to conceal the fact that he was breathing hard and deep, and he spoke to them in a tone that he sought to render careless, but which really had an unnatural sound. Sylvia gave him a glance that was half fear, and had the "King" taken notice it would have filled him with deep pain, but Harley, who alone of the three retained his self-possession, spoke lightly of passing things. The feeling of exulting strength was not yet gone from him; in the presence of this man of great achievement he was not afraid, and, moreover, the desire to protect Sylvia, to turn attention from her, was strong within him. For these reasons Harley carried the whole burden of the talk, and carried it well. Neither of the others wished to interrupt him; Sylvia being full of these new emotions, half joy and half fear, that agitated her, and Mr. Plummer trying to evolve from chaos a way to act. Although the "King" had suppressed the muscular manifestation, he was none the less burned by internal fire. Sylvia was his: it was he who had found her in the mountains; it was he who had given her the years of care and tenderness, and by every right, including that of promise, she belonged to him. Nor was he one to give her up for a fancy. He had seen the look of love on her face when she spoke to Harley, but she was only a girl--from the crest of his years the "King" thought that he saw the truth, and knew it--and as soon as this campaign was over, and the Eastern youth had disappeared, she would forget him. Mr. Plummer regarded this youth out of the corner of his eye, and while he pitied him for his ignorance of life, he was bound to admit that Harley was a handsome fellow, tall, well knit, and with an air of self-reliance. Evidently there was good stuff in him, and he would amount to something when he was trained and mature, although the "King" concluded that he needed a great deal of training. But he could not fail to feel respect for Harley's presence of mind, his calm, and his ease. The youth showed no fear of him, no sign of apprehension, and the mountaineer gave him credit for it.