"Yes--yes--yo' houn' dog!--yo' kilt my pap, an' my maw--yo' did!" he shrieked out in a riot of rage. "Yore 'lowing t' git hain't a gittin', hit hain't'--yo' kin 'low, an' 'low, an' 'low--thet hain't a gittin'--yore a pesky coward--yore a damn woman-killer--an' th' day'll cum when we'uns 'll run th' cow-brutes acrossin' yore snaky ole grave, we will! An' our'n hawgs'll root parsley offin' yore ole houn'-dawg grave, they will--yo' kilt my pap an' my maw, yo' did--an' hits we'uns what'll make a stinkin' hole fo' yore ole carcass,--what'll run the wild skunks out o' th' mountains--a hole what'll make th' buzzards puke. "Yo' kilt my pap an' my maw--yo' he-skunk!--an' ef they's a God up in th' clouds, He'll see yore ole bones a-burnin' up in hell 'fore long--He will." He bleated out his imprecations, his frothy, distraught utterances tumbling together and stifling his speech. His wrist-band became loosened, and he stretched a sleeveless, naked arm high over his bared head to solemnize an oath that had sealed itself in his tempestuous heart. The sullen officer scowled at him, speechless; then grimly, silently, turned his back upon the lava of this mountain boy's impotent frenzy. Panting and dazed, Lem walked in a circle around his hat, which lay on the walk. Finally picking it up, he backed away from some curious eyes that had gathered, and ambled off toward the Kentucky river. Near two hundred miles from Moon mountain, forlorn, soul-sick, friendless, moneyless, but free, with one steadfast, consuming purpose fixed in his heart,--an organic purpose which he kept protected with prayerful importunities to Providence that it might not go amiss! When Lem got his bearings, he started cross-country afoot. At the end of the ninth day he found himself on the skirts of the Big Sandy country. With that tireless wolf-gait, he put the rugged miles behind him. All through the moonless night he tramped with eager eyes fixed toward the east where the hills piled higher and higher, and penciled a sable, ragged border against the paling, myriad stars. At length the atmosphere grew heavy and a flume of languid clouds straggled up where they hung upon the distant mountain peaks, pregnant with pulsing heat lightning. When, in the loneliness of that weird hour, the darkest epoch between night and morning, Lem beheld, silhouetted against the incessant flashes of lightning, the sombre dome of Moon mountain--that sullen watch-dog of the Cumberland--he pushed ahead unmindful of fatigue, while out of the wreckage of his battered soul, and aggrieved senses, there rose up a semblance of his old self as he lessened the distance between him and his beloved home.