Big Paul, the German forester, was called in, and Ardmore made his toilet in a pail of water while listening to the big fellow's report. Cooke joined in the conversation, and Ardmore was gratified to see that the two men met on common ground in discussing the local geography. The forester described in clear, straight-forward English just what he had done. He had distributed his men well through the hills, and they were now posted as pickets on points favorable for observation. They had found along the streams four widely scattered stills, and these were being watched. Paul drew a small map, showing the homes of the most active members of the Appleweight gang, and Ardmore indicated all these points as nearly as possible on the county map he had brought with him. "Here's Raccoon Creek, and my own land runs right through there--just about here, isn't it, Paul? I always remember the creek, because I like the name so much." "You are right, Mr. Ardmore. The best timber you have lies along there, and your land crosses the North Carolina boundary into South Carolina about here. There's Mingo County, South Carolina, you see." "Well, that dashes me!" exclaimed Ardmore, striking the table with his fist. "I never knew one state from another, but you must be right." "I'm positive of it, Mr. Ardmore. One of my men has been living there on the creek to protect your timber. Some of these outlaws have been cutting off our wood." "It seems to me I remember the place. There's a log house hanging on the creek. You took me by it once, but it never entered my head that the state line was so close." "It runs right through the house! And some one, years ago, blazed the trees along there, so it is very easy to tell when you step from one state to another. My man left there recently, refusing to stay any longer. These Appleweight people thought he was a spy, and posted a notice on his door warning him to leave, so I shifted him to the other end of the estate." "Did you see the sheriff at Kildare?" "I haven't seen him. When I asked for him yesterday I found he had left town and gone to Greensboro to see his sick uncle." Ardmore laughed and slapped his knee. "Who takes care of the dungeon while he's away?" "There are no prisoners in the Kildare jail. The sheriff's afraid to keep any; and he's like the rest of the people around here. They all live in terror of Appleweight." "Appleweight is a powerful character in these parts," said Cooke, pouring the coffee he had been making, and handing a tin cupful to Ardmore. "He's tolerable well off, and could make money honestly if he didn't operate stills, rob country stores, mix up in politics, and steal horses when he and his friends need them." "I guess he has never molested us any, has he, Paul?" asked Ardmore, not a little ashamed of his ignorance of his own business.