Plutina had no sleep the night following her encounter with Dan Hodges. Throughout the dragging hours, she was tortured by sinister imaginings. She exhausted her brain in futile strivings for some means of escape from the mesh of circumstance. It was not until the gray twilight of dawn shone through the curtains that a possibility of relief stirred in her mind. It was out of desperation that the idea sprang. She felt herself so utterly forlorn and helpless in her loneliness that the despair was overpowering. It was then, at last, that the inspiration came to her: She would confess everything to her grandfather!

Though she quailed before the prospect, she rejoiced as well. The old man was strong and resourceful. He would know how to meet and overcome the outlaw’s villainy. Moreover, now that her decision had been made, Plutina was surprised to find her alarm over such confession greatly lessened from what she had supposed possible. She began to realize that some intangible change in her grandfather himself was responsible for this. She became 167 convinced that the new gentleness had had its origin in the unselfish abandonment of his marital hopes. It was as if that renunciation had vitally softened him. Perhaps, in this strange mood, he would be less intolerant of her fault in turning informer. His prejudice could find no excuse for her treachery, she knew, yet the peril in which she had involved herself, and him, might arouse his pity. Assuredly, he would be moved to instant action for both their sakes. For that reason alone, if for no other, she must tell him her story without a moment of unnecessary delay.

In the course of the morning, Plutina took advantage of an opportunity, whilst her sister was busy in the garden, and went to her grandfather, who was taking his ease on the porch. She was encouraged by the mild and benignant expression on the old man’s face, which had been more often fierce, as she remembered it through the years. She seated herself quietly, and then proceeded immediately to confession. There was no attempt at palliation of her offense, if offense it were. She gave the narrative of events starkly, from the moment when she had first seen Hodges descending Luffman’s Branch to the time of her separation from him at the clearing, on the yesterday.

Throughout the account, the listener sat sprawled in the big willow rocker, his slippered feet resting 168 on the porch rail. The huge body was crumpled into an awkward posture, which was never changed, once the history was begun. The curved wooden pipe hung from his lips, black against the iron gray cascade of beard, but he did not draw at it again, after the opening-sentences from his granddaughter’s lips. Plutina, looking down, perceived that the folded hands, lying in his lap, were clenched so strongly that the knuckles showed bloodless. Yet, he made no movement, nor offered any word of comment or of question. When the girl had made an end, and sat waiting distressedly for his verdict, he still rested mute, until the silence became more than she could endure, and she cried out in pleading:

“Kain’t ye fergive me, Gran’pap?”

Uncle Dick turned, and looked reproachfully at the distraught girl. A great tenderness shone from the black eyes, in which age had not dimmed the brilliance. As she saw the emotion there, a gasp of rapturous relief broke from Plutina’s lips. The stern restraints of her training were broken down in that moment. She dropped to her knees by the old man’s side, and seized his hands, and kissed them, and pressed them to her bosom. He released one of them presently, and laid it gently on the dusk masses of his grandchild’s hair in silent blessing. 169 His voice, when at last he spoke, was softer than she had heard it ever before.

“Why, Tiny, ye mustn’t be afeared o’ yer ole gran’pap. I thinks a heap o’ my kin, an’ ye’re the clusest. I loves ye gal—more’n anythin’ er anybody else in the world, though I wouldn’t want Alviry to hear thet. I hain’t mindin’ what ye done none. I’d stan’ by ye, Tiny, if he had the hull cussed Gov’ment at yer back. I hain’t got no likin’ fer revenuers, but I got a heap less for Dan Hodges.”

He paused for a moment and lifted his hand from the girl’s head to stroke the gray beard thoughtfully, before he continued:

“I been thinkin’ a right-smart lot o’ things jest lately. I ’low I’m a-gittin’ old, mebby. An’ I opine as ’tween the revenuers and Dan Hodges, I hain’t so much agin the Gov’ment as I was.”

Again, he fell silent, as if in embarrassment over an admission so at variance with the tenets of a lifetime. Then he spoke with sudden briskness:

“But ye’d orter a-killed the critter then an’ thar, Tiny!”

“I jest somehow couldn’t, Gran’pap. I’m shore sorry.” The girl felt poignant shame for the weakness thus rebuked.

“I ’low I hain’t likely to have no sech feelin’s a-holdin’ o’ me back,” Uncle Dick remarked, drily. “Hit’s my foolishness bailin’ ’im out got us in the 170 pizen mess. I ’low I’ll cancel the bond. But, fust, I’d have to take the skunk to the jail-house, dead er alive. He’ll stan’ some urgin’, I reckon.”

“Ye’ll be keerful, Gran’pap,” Plutina exclaimed anxiously, as she stood up.

“Now, don’t ye worrit none,” Uncle Dick ordered, tartly. His usual rather dictatorial manner in the household returned to him. “You-all run along. I want to think.”

The girl went obediently. The reaction from despair brought joyousness. Of a sudden, she became aware of the blending perfumes of the wild flowers and the lilting of an amorous thrush in the wood. Her lids narrowed to dreamy contemplation of the green-and-gold traceries on the ground, where the sunlight fell dappled through screening foliage. Fear was fled from her. Her thought flew to Zeke, in longing as always, but now in a longing made happy with hopes. There might be a letter awaiting her from New York—perhaps even with a word of promise for his return. She smiled, radiant with fond anticipations. Then, after a word of explanation to Alvira, she set off at a brisk pace over the trail toward Cherry Lane.

The girl went blithely on her way, day-dreaming of the time when Zeke should be come home to her again. She stopped at the Widow Higgins’ cabin, to receive felicitations over the escape of Uncle

Dick from Fanny Brown. Plutina was not minded to harass the older woman with the tale of Dan Hodges. The outlaw’s threats against Zeke would only fill the mother’s heart with fears, against which she could make no defense. Otherwise, however, the tongues of the two ran busily concerning the absent one. And then, soon, Plutina was again hurrying over the trail, which the bordering wild flowers made dainty as a garden walk. Once, her eyes turned southward, to the gloomy grandeur of Stone Mountain, looming vast and portentous. The blur of shadow that marked the Devil’s Cauldron touched her to an instant of foreboding, but the elation of mood persisted. She raised her hand, and the fingers caressed the bag in which was the fairy crystal, and she went gaily forward, smiling.

Uncle Dick, meantime, was busy with sterner thoughts, and his task was harmonious to his musings, for he was cleaning and oiling his rifle with punctilious care. He did not hasten over-much at either the thinking or the work. The shades of night were drawing down when, finally, he hung the immaculate weapon on its hooks. He ate in solitary silence, served by Alvira, who ventured no intrusion on this mood of remoteness with which she was familiar from experience. The old man had determined to go forth and seize, and deliver 172 to the custody of the law, the person of Dan Hodges. At the best, he would surprise the outlaw, and the achievement would be simple enough; at the worst, there would be a duel. Uncle Dick had no fear over the outcome. He believed himself quicker and surer with the rifle than this scoundrel of half his years. At grips, of course he would have no chance. But the affair would not come to grips. He would see to that. He went to bed contentedly, and slept the peaceful sleep of wholesome age, undisturbed by any bickerings of conscience.

It was while he was dressing, next morning, that a measure of prudence occurred to Uncle Dick. During the period of his absence, it would be well for Plutina to avoid risk by keeping in the cabin, with her rifle at hand. There was no telling how audacious the moonshiner might become in his rage over the ignominy to which the girl had subjected him.

At the breakfast-table, he spoke sharply to Alvira, as she placed the plate of fried ham and eggs before him.

“Tell Tiny, I’m a-wantin’ her.”

“Tiny hain’t hyar yit,” was the answer. “Hit’s time she was.”

“Whar’s she gone!” Uncle Dick demanded, gruffly. He detested any interruption of his plans.

“Tiny stayed over to the Widder Higgins’s las’ 173 night,” Alvira explained. “Hit’s time she come back.”

Uncle Dick snorted with indignation.

“She didn’t say nothin’ to me ’bout stayin’ over thar,” he said crossly.

“Nor to me, nuther,” Alvira declared. “She never does beforehand. When the Widder Higgins kind o’ hangs on, Tiny jest stays, an’ comes back in the mornin’. She orter been ’ere afore now.”

Uncle Dick pushed away the plate of food, half-eaten. Dread had fallen on him suddenly. He tried to thrust it off, but the weight was too heavy for his strength of will. Perforce he yielded to alarm for the girl’s safety. A great fear was upon him lest it be too late for the warning he had meant to give. He growled a curse on his own folly in not guarding against immediate attack by the outlaw. It was with small hope of finding his apprehensions groundless that he set forth at once, rifle in hand, for the cabin of the Widow Higgins. There, his fears were confirmed. The old woman had seen nothing of Plutina, since the short pause on the way to the post-office. Uncle Dick groaned aloud over the fate that might have come on the girl. He told enough to give the Widow Higgins some understanding of the situation, and bade her go to his own house, there to remain and to comfort Alvira. For himself, he would first search over the 174 Cherry Lane trail for any trace of his vanished granddaughter, and thereafter raise the hue-and-cry to a general hunt through the mountains for the capture or killing of the villain, and the recovery of the girl, dead or alive. Not for an instant did the old man doubt that Hodges had done the deed.

Uncle Dick had no more than passed Luffman’s Branch on his way over the Cherry Lane Trail, when a joyous hail caused him to lift his eyes from their close scrutiny of the beaten earth. Descending the trail, a little way in front of him, appeared the slender, erect form of the one-armed veteran. The bridegroom moved with a jaunty step, and his wrinkled features radiated gladness. But, as he came near, his face sobered at sight of the other’s expression. His voice was solicitous.

“I ’low somethin’ air wrong,” he ventured.

Uncle Dick in his distress welcomed the note of sympathy. Somehow, he felt curiously drawn to this successful rival, and he was sure that his feeling was returned. Between the two men there was a curious mutual respect, as if each relied on the entire good sense of one who had loved Fanny Brown. The older man craved a confidant; he was avid for counsel and every possible assistance in this emergency. He told the facts as concisely as possible, while Seth Jones, wedded raptures forgot, 175 listened in growing sorrow and dismay. At the end, he spoke simply:

“I’ll take a look ’long with ye, Mister Siddon. I done a heap o’ trackin’ in my time, out West. Perhaps, I kin he’p ye some.”

Uncle Dick put out his hand, and the two palms met in a warm clasp, witness of friendship’s pact. Forthwith, they gave themselves to minute examination of the trail for any sign of the missing girl.

For a time, their patient search went unrewarded. But, about a half-mile beyond Luffman’s Branch, they came on an area still affected by one of the small showers so frequent in the mountains. Here, the veteran’s alert eyes distinguished a footprint outlined in the damp dust.

“Yer gal was barefut, I reckon,” he said. He pointed to the imprint just before where he was standing.

“Yep,” Uncle Dick answered. There was a little mist over his eyes, as he glanced down. “Yep; hit’s her’n.”

The veteran went forward confidently now.

“She was a-steppin’ plumb brisk,” he declared; “feelin’ pretty peart, I ’low; feet kind o’ springy-like.”

Uncle Dick shivered at the words. He had a ghastly vision of Plutina moving at this moment with painfully dragging steps somewhere afar in 176 the fastnesses of the mountains. But he said nothing of the worst fears to his companion. He only followed on, watching closely lest something escape the other’s survey. Almost, he found himself hoping they might come on the girl’s dead body. Death is not the worst of evils.

After a mile, or a little less, the area of the shower was passed. Uncle Dick could hardly distinguish any sign of the footprints in the heavy dust of the trail, but he accepted without question the veteran’s assertion that they were easily perceptible to the trained sight. Suddenly, Seth Jones halted, and peered intently, stooping low. Uncle Dick, too, bent to look, but the faint markings in the dirt were without significance to him. The veteran moved to the roadside and searched on hands and knees over the yard of grass between the trail and a thicket. When he stood erect again, he regarded his companion inquiringly.

“They seem to be the tracks o’ some mighty-big, hefty cuss, what come out o’ these-hyar bushes, an’ tuk along arter her. Kin ye make a guess who hit mout be, Mister Siddon?”

Uncle Dick’s face grew black with a rage that was the more frightful because it had no object on which to vent itself.

“Hit’s him!” he mumbled thickly, choking over the effort for self-control. Abruptly, he abandoned 177 the attempt. His big voice boomed forth in a torrent of blasphemous imprecations. When, finally, he rumbled into silence, and stood panting for breath, the veteran, who had appeared to listen with great interest and perhaps some pleasure, spoke soothingly:

“You-all was shore some eloquent, an’ I ’low the ornery critter deserves every mite on hit. An’, anyhow, I reckon ye done saved yerse’f a stroke. Ye was a-lookin’ like ye’d bust, but ye let off the steam a-cussin’ ’im out. Now, let’s see.” He went back to the trail, and advanced very slowly, for the markings were faint even to his skilled eyes. Uncle Dick, trembling a little from the violence of his outburst, followed faithfully, but he could no longer detect traces of the passing of either man or girl.

Thus, in slow progress, they came at last to the fork of the trail. This is at the extreme easterly slope of Bull Head Mountain, which rises from the north side of the valley as if in sullen rivalry of Stone Mountain below. In the division of the trail here, one branch ascends toward Glade Creek, across the mountain, while the other keeps on straight to Cherry Lane. Within the fork of the trails lies a fallen giant of the coves, a huge yellow poplar, almost hidden along its length by the embowering thickets. Toward this, in an advance 178 tediously slow, the veteran made his way. When, finally, he was come up to the great bole, he stood quietly for minutes, gazing everywhere round about. Uncle Dick, emulating his companion, peered earnestly, and soon he, too, perceived the evidences that something out of the ordinary had occurred just here. Over a considerable space next the trunk there were signs of a struggle. Broken branches showed on some of the bushes; leaves from the poplar shoots were lying on the grass; the turf was freshly torn here and there. The veteran bent over, and picked up an object from the ground, which he held out. Uncle Dick gave one glance, and uttered a cry of despair. He recognized it as a button from the dress Plutina had been wearing the day before.

The further search of the veteran achieved little. He was able only to make sure that the footprints led off through the forest toward the south. But, now, the impressions were no longer of one following the other. Instead, it was revealed that the two walked side by side. Uncle Dick groaned as his companion told him of this. Plutina had been attacked; she had fought; she had been overcome—and she was still alive!