“Some war maps, an’ orders in a box what a courier—thinkin’ he war a-goin’ ter be captured—hid thar; an’ he war killed afore ever he got ’em ag’in. An’ long o’ ’em air a letter a-tellin’ ’bout me a-runnin’ an’ a-orderin’ me ter be shot fur a deserter. An’ old Corbin, bearin’ a gredge ag’in me, air a-goin’ ter perduce ’em an’ fairly laff me out’n the Cove. An’ I ain’t got nowhar ter go.” “He’s mighty mean!” cried Skimpy, his heart swelling with indignation. “Waal, I wanter scotch his wheel!” exclaimed Binwell. “I don’t want him ter do it.” “How kin ye purvent it?” said Skimpy, briskly. Surely there was no malice, no mischief on Binwell’s part in this. His spirits had risen to their normal high pitch. “Waal, Skimp, I hev been a-studyin’ bout’n it. But till I fund that ladder—it air too long fur enny mortal place but Keedon Bluffs—an’ made sure o’ what he war a-doin’ of, I warn’t sati’fied in my mind. Ef ye’ll holp me—kase I be too bulky nowadays ter creep in one o’ them hollows—ef I’ll kerry ye down thar will ye snake in an’ git the box? Ye ’feared?” For Skimpy had drawn back at this proposition. “Naw,” he faltered, but with an affirmative tendency. He saw Binwell’s teeth and eyes gleam through the dusk. This man _who ran_ was laughing at him for being afraid of the great heights of Keedon Bluffs, of the black abysses below! “We hed better hev tuk the ladder ter climb by,” suggested Skimpy. “An’ hev old Corbin come along the river bank an’ take it down whilst we war on it? I’m better’n enny ladder ye ever see, bein’ so strong. Feel my arm,” he held it out. “Shucks, boy! Fust time I ever see ye, ye war talkin’ ter Ike ’bout climbin’ down thar ’thout enny holp. But mebbe ef ye don’t want ter go, Ike will. I hain’t axed him yit. I’d ruther hev you-uns. But I reckon he ain’t _afeard_.” In addition to Skimpy’s sympathy for the ostracized Binwell his terror of being considered a coward was very great. “Naw—I’ll go—I ain’t ’feared; but I be powerful oneasy an’ troubled bout’n that thar ladder.” “Waal, arter we git the box—the papers air in it—we’ll go over to yon side o’ the mounting with a axe, an’ cut down the tree ez cotched the ladder, an’ tote it back whar we fund it.” Skimpy’s objections vanished at the prospect of being able to undo soon the harm he had done. He hoped fervently that old Corbin would not miss his ladder before it was replaced. “Hyar’s Obadiah’s fiddle!” exclaimed Binwell, who led the way while the boy followed through the laurel, grown quite dark now; and when they emerged into the open woods they beheld the stars glistening in the shallows of the branch, and many a pensive glimmer came through the bare boughs, and through the thinning leaves. XI.