“War—war thar ennybody thar sure enough?” “Plenty of ’em. But only two came to the forge.” “What—what did they say?” “Oh, they were civil enough,” returned Rathburn in an offhand fashion. “How did you git away from ’em?” “Oh, I had no trouble. I did just as I told you I should: went to the blacksmith’s house and roused up his mother, and pretended to be hunting for him.” “Did that tale go down?” asked Baintree, his relish of deceiving the enemy even by proxy causing his eyes to glitter. “Not a bit of it. That devil Teck Jepson had got wind of our being warned, and of who warned us. He just felt sort o’ good, I suppose, and let me off.” “He wouldn’t ef I had been thar,” said Baintree with a pessimistic nod of the head. “He would!” Baintree did not retaliate with a counter-retort. He was silent for a moment. Then he observed, “Teck an’ Marcelly useter keep comp’ny tergether. I’ll bet she got skeered arter she warned us, an’ let him know she hed gin us the word.” “She ain’t one of that kind. She don’t scare worth a cent. She’s worth any ten men!” There was something so fervent in his tone that it seemed to give a new and unique direction to Jake Baintree’s thoughts. Presently he said, “She air a powerful good an’ pritty gal, Marcelly air! But she ain’t in no wise like them young town gals in Glaston. I useter see ’em on the street whenst I war fetched from the jail ter the court. Them’s the sort ye been ’quainted with,—the kind that walks with par’sols. She ain’t in no wise like them fine town gals.” “And what if she ain’t? She’s better than them all put together, and a thousand times prettier.” It was hardly twenty-four hours since she had bestirred herself to save his life, and his heart was still warm toward her. XX. Baintree lifted his sleek black head for a moment, and covertly surveyed his fireside companion, whose eyes were fixed meditatively on the coals. There was an expression of acute though surprised comprehension in the face of the crafty mountaineer; his elevated eyebrows, keen, quick glance, and thin pursed lips betokened much deft and agile deduction and analysis, although none of these swift processes were indicated in the reflective mien into which he had relapsed before Rathburn’s attention once more reverted to him.