Having seen the boy's face, Henderson found it hard to shift his glance elsewhere. He had encountered many mountain faces that were sinister and vindictive--almost malign, but it was not the unyielding challenge which arrested him now. It was something far more individual and impressive. There are eyes that reflect light with the quicksilver responsiveness of mirrors. There are others, though more rare, which shine from an inner fire. Bear Cat Stacy's held the golden, unresting flame that one encounters in the tawny iris of a captive lion or eagle. Such eyes in a human face mean something and it is something which leads their possessor to the gallows or the throne. They are heralds of a spirit untameable and invincible; of the will to rend or rebuild. Henderson found himself thinking of volcanoes which are latent but not extinct. It was a first glimpse, but if he never again saw this boy, who stood there measuring him with cool deliberation, he would always remember him as one remembers the few instantly convincing personalities one has brushed in walking through life. But when Lone Stacy had finished his perusal, the nod of his head was an assurance of dissipated doubt. There was even a grave sort of courtesy in his manner now, as he announced: "Thet's good enough fer me. If Uncle Israel vouches fer ye, ye're welcome. He says hyar 'ther bearer is trustworthy'--but he don't say who ye air. Ye said yore name war Jerry Henderson, didn't ye?" "That _is_ my name," assented the newcomer, once more astonished. "But I didn't realize I'd told it yet." With an outright scorn for subterfuge the older man replied, "I reckon thar hain't no profit in a-beatin' ther devil round ther stump. You've heered my voice afore--an' I've seed yore face. Ye tole me yore name back thar--in ther la'rel, didn't ye?" Henderson bowed. "I _did_ recognize your voice, but I didn't aim to speak of it--unless you did." "When I says that I trusts a man," the moonshiner spoke with an unambiguous quietness of force, "I means what I says an' takes my chances accordin'. Ef a man betrays my confidence--" he paused just an instant then added pointedly--"he takes _his_ chances. What did ye 'low yore business war, hyarabouts, Mr. Henderson?" "I mean to explain that to you in due time, Mr. Stacy, but just now it takes fewer words to say what's _not_ my business." "Wall then, what _hain't_ yore business?" "Other people's business." "Wa'al so far as hit goes thet's straight talk. I favors outright speech myself an' ye don't seem none mealy-mouthed. Ye talks right fer yoreself--like a mountain man." "You see," said Henderson calmly, "I _am_ a mountain man even if I've dwelt down below for some years." "You--a mountain man?" echoed the bearded giant in bewilderment and the visitor nodded. "Ever hear of Torment Henderson?" he inquired.