Zachariah, observing the dark frown upon his master's face, and receiving no answer to a thrice repeated question, fell silent except for the almost inaudible hymn with which he invited consolation. From afar in the thick wood now came the occasional report of a gun, proof that hunters were abroad. Many times Kenneth was roused from his reverie by the boom and whiz of pheasants, or the ring of a woodman's axe, or the lively scurrying of ground squirrels across his path. They forded three creeks before emerging upon a boggy, open space, covered with a mass of flattened, wind-broken reeds and swamp grass, in the centre of which lay a wide, still bayou partially fringed by willows with the first sickly signs of spring upon them in the shape of timid mole-ear leaves. Beyond the bridge over the canal-like stream which fed the bayou was a ridge of hills along whose base the road wound with tortuous indecision. The first log cabin they had seen since entering the wood nestled among the scrub oaks of the hill hard by. The front wall of the hut was literally covered with the pegged-up skins of foxes, raccoons and what were described to Kenneth as the hides of "linxes," but which, in reality, were from the catamount. A tall, bewhiskered man, smoking a corncob pipe, leaned upon the rail fence, regarding the strangers with lazy interest. Kenneth drew rein and inquired how far it was to Lafayette. "'Bout two mile an' a half," replied the man. "My name is Stain, Isaac Stain. I reckon you must be Mister Kenneth Gwynne. I heerd you'd be along this way some time this mornin'." "I suppose Mr. Lapelle informed you that I was coming along behind," said Kenneth, smiling. "'Twuzn't Barry Lapelle as told me. I hain't seen him to-day." "Didn't he pass here within the hour?" "Nope," was the laconic response. "I met him back along the road. He was coming this way." "Must 'a' changed his mind." "He probably took another road." "There hain't no other road. I reckon he turned off into the wood an' 'lowed you to pass," said Mr. Stain slowly. "But he was in great haste to reach town. He may have passed when you were not--" "He didn't pass this place unless he was astraddle of an eagle er somethin' like that," declared the other, grinning. "An' even then he'd have to be flyin' purty doggone high ef I couldn't see him. Nope. I guess he took to the woods, Mr. Gwynne, for one reason er 'nother,--an' it must ha' been a mighty good reason, 'cause from what I know about Barry Lapelle he allus knows which way he's goin' to leap long before he leaps. He's sorter like a painter in that way." Kenneth, knowing that he meant panther when he said painter, was properly impressed.