The Widow Dunham nodded contemplatively. “Yes. His name’s David Joslin. Folks here knows the Joslins. He’s a mounting man—borned an’ bred up in there, fifty mile or so. He’s one of the best raft steersmen on this river—been right wild in his time, but he ain’t a-skeered of nothin’. That’s the name he’s got in these mountings. Maybe ye’d better ax him. He’s a-workin’ down to the brick yard now, an’ tell I give him yore old coat an’ shoes he didn’t have a stitch of clothes to his name, so to speak. He orter be willin’ to go to hell for a dollar a day, an’ I reckon he would.” “Well, I guess it’ll be a hell of a trip up in there,” said Haddon in reply. “What do you think, Marcia?” But Marcia Haddon neither then nor at any later time, while partaking of the rude fare of the place, made any comment or expressed any discontent. When they had finished their evening meal, Haddon led his wife out to the scanty gallery of the Widow Dunham’s home, which, fenced off only by a broken paling against the street, looked out toward the western prospect of the hills. It was starlight now; the last glow of the sinking sun had disappeared. Here and there the slow sounds of the village life, now about to adjust itself to sleep, came to their ears. The fragrance of Haddon’s fine cigar hung heavy in the air. They sat in silence. Haddon himself spoke more often to others than to his wife, so it would appear, and as for her, she was reticent by instinct. Her hands folded in her lap, she sat without comment, looking out toward the shadowy outline of the mountains which crowded down to the river. At length Haddon rose and stepped back into the house, where he found the Widow Dunham standing in the hall in converse with the tall young mountaineer. “Now, now, Amy,” said he, advancing boldly, and chucking the comely dame under the chin, “no visiting with anybody else but me, you understand—you haven’t forgotten your old friend, have you?” Joslin stepped back, somewhat astounded at this familiarity on the part of the stranger, but the latter only laughed in his face. “Come along, young man,” said he. “Come out on the porch. I want to talk to you for a while.” Joslin silently followed him out, and stood leaning against the rail of the gallery, as Haddon seated himself and began to explain what he had in his mind. “See here, young man,” said he. “They tell me you’re from back in these mountains.” “I was born thar,” said Joslin quietly. “How’d you happen to come out here?” demanded the newcomer. “I don’t reckon it’s ary man’s business but my own,” replied Joslin calmly. “Well, you’re going back in, aren’t you, after a while?” “I hadn’t planned ter,” said the young man. “I come out because I wanted ter. I’m a-goin’ on Outside because I think I’d orter. I’ve got to work. What I want is a chancet.” “Well, I’ve got a chance for you.” “How do ye mean, stranger?”