The “Colonel” had the gift of continuance. Some time elapsed before she exhausted the joys of exaltation. More than once she absolutely refused to dismount. Tobe patiently led the beast up and down, and the “Colonel” rode in state. It was only when the sun had grown high, and occasionally she was fain to lift her chubby hands to her eyes, imperiling her safety on the saddle, that he ventured to seriously remonstrate, and finally she permitted herself to be assisted to the ground. When, with the little girl at his heels, he reached the porch, he took off his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his brow with his great brown hand. “I tell ye, jouncin' round arter the Cunnel air powerful hot work,” he declared. The next moment he paused. His wife had come to the door, and there was a strange expression of alarm among the anxious lines of her face. “Tobe,” she said, in a bated voice, “who war them men?” He stared at her, whirled about, surveyed the vacant landscape, and once more turned dumfound-ed toward her. “What men?” he asked. “Them men ez acted so cur'ous,” she said. “I couldn't see thar faces plain, an' I dunno who they war.” “Whar war they?” And he looked over his shoulder once more. “Yander along the ledges of the big rock. Thar war two of 'em, hidin' ahint that thar jagged aidge. An' ef yer back war turned they'd peep out at ye an' the Cunnel ridin'. But whenst ye would face round agin, they'd drap down ahint the aidge o' the rock. I 'lowed wunst ez I'd holler ter ye, but I war feared ye moughtn't keer ter know.” Her voice fell in its deprecatory cadence. He stodd in silent perplexity. “Ye air a fool, 'Genie, an' ye never seen nuthin'. Nobody hev got enny call ter spy on me.” He stepped in-doors, took down his rifle from the rack, and went out frowning into the sunlight. The suggestion of mystery angered him. He had a vague sense of impending danger. As he made his way along the slope toward the great beetling crag all his faculties were on the alert. He saw naught unusual when he stood upon its dark-seamed summit, and he went cautiously to the verge and looked down at the many ledges. They jutted out at irregular intervals, the first only six feet below, and all accessible enough to an expert climber. A bush grew in a niche. An empty nest, riddled by the wind, hung dishevelled from a twig. Coarse withered grass tufted the crevices. Far below he saw the depths of the Cove--the tops of the leafless trees, and, glimpsed through the interlacing boughs, the rush of a mountain rill, and a white flash as a sunbeam slanted on the foam. He was turning away, all incredulous, when with a sudden start he looked back. On one of the ledges was a slight depression. It was filled with sand and earth. Imprinted upon it was the shape of a man's foot. The ranger paused and gazed fixedly at it. “Wa'al, by the Lord!” he exclaimed, under his breath. Presently, “But they hev no call!” he. argued. Then once more, softly, “By the Lord!”