Some, fitfully interested, spoke of the new railway now advancing from the Middle Fork up Hell-fer-Sartin. There was talk that a pike road had been built in as far as the county seat from somewhere very far in the west, as much as twenty miles. In a general way there seemed to hang in the air an unsettled feeling, as though all knew great events yet might happen. The war Outside—the railroad now impending—the old feud now about to break aflame again—it was a grave time for these strange, somber folk. But a day passed, two days, and nothing broke. The leaders studiously kept away from the young men all that fiery liquor which, would be certain to set them beyond control. The tenseness of the long hours began to tell on all. Men became restless—boys stood here and there in groups, talking sullenly, looking this way and that, nodding a head hither or yon. But after their old and usual fashion, the leaders of both factions held them together—old Absalom Gannt and Chan Bullock and their respective attendants. “Wait, fellers,” was the arresting word that went around. “Come to the meetin’ at the mill.” The main floor of the mill building at the Forks afforded a room perhaps fifty feet in one dimension, low-ceiled and dark. The reticent postmaster and the blacksmith had provided a few flickering lamps. And finally thither, soon after twilight of the appointed day, the mountaineers turned, group by group, man after man, silently, two score Joslins and as many or more of the Gannts, all of them too proud to stay away even though a stern mystery lay ahead. Every man of them was armed, every one of them ready for what might come. The old mill building, the only meeting place tacitly held neutral and the only practical town hall available, bade fair to see red history this night. And there was history done that very night. They had all gathered, the men of both clans, thronging the dark interior. For half an hour they had sat, silent and alert, squatting here or there on their heels, slouching on sacks of grain or something of the sort. The Gannts were on the left-hand side, the Joslins on the right, as one entered the door. No one seemed to know what was expected. There still was mystery as to what had brought them here. Perhaps the postmaster and the blacksmith knew. If so, they would tell in time. That word had been passed to the Gannts that the Joslins would be here, and to the Joslins that the Gannts would come, was the only sure thing; and it was quite enough.