The other interrupted. “Really, young man, I must go. It is already late, and you know I have yet to find a place to stay for the night.” “Law, that’s alright, Mister!” replied Jed. “Ain’t no call t’ worry. Stay anywhere. Whar do you live when you’re to home?” Again Jed’s question was ignored. “You think then that Mr. Matthews will keep me?” “Law, yes! They’ll take anybody in. I know they’re to home ’cause they was a fixin’ t’ leave the mill when I left ’bout an hour ago. Was the river up much when you come acrost?” As the native spoke he was still peering uneasily into the woods. “I did not cross the river. How far is it to this Matthews place, and how do I go?” “Jest foller this Old Trail. Hit’ll take you right thar. Good road all th’ way. ’Bout three mile, I’d say. Did you come from Springfield or St. Louis, maybe?” The man lifted his satchel from the rock as he answered: “No, I do not live in either Springfield or St. Louis. Thank you, very much, for your assistance. I will go on, now, for I must hurry, or night will overtake me, and I shall not be able to find the path.” “Oh, hit’s a heap lighter when you git up on th’ hill ’bove th’ fog,” said Jed, lowering his leg from the horse’s neck, and settling the meal sack, preparatory to moving. “But I’d a heap rather hit was you than me a goin’ up on Dewey t’night.” He was still looking up the trail. “Reckon you must be from Kansas City or Chicago? I heard tell they’re mighty big towns.” The stranger’s only answer was a curt “Good-by,” as his form vanished in the mist. Jed turned and dug his heels vigorously in the old mare’s flanks, as he ejaculated softly, “Well, I’ll be dod durned! Must be from New York, sure!” Slowly the old man toiled up the mountain; up from the mists of the lower ground to the ridge above; and, as he climbed, unseen by him, a shadowy form flitted from tree to tree in the dim, dripping forest. As the stranger came in sight of the Lane cabin, a young woman on a brown pony rode out of the gate and up the trail before him; and when the man reached the open ground on the mountain above, and rounded the shoulder of the hill, he saw the pony, far ahead, loping easily along the little path. A moment he watched, and horse and rider passed from sight. The clouds were drifting far away. The western sky was clear with the sun still above the hills. In an old tree that leaned far out over the valley, a crow shook the wet from his plumage and dried himself in the warm light; while far below the mists rolled, and on the surface of that gray sea, the traveler saw a company of buzzards, wheeling and circling above some dead thing hidden in its depth. Wearily the man followed the Old Trail toward the Matthews place, and always, as he went, in the edge of the gloomy forest, flitted that shadowy form. CHAPTER II. SAMMY LANE.