Is the longing of the human soul but a delusion? Does it catch the fragrance of immortality, as the little honeybee catches the fragrance of the dew-dipped mountain flowers, and reach out with a longing far beyond human ken?

Jack Wade sighed as he sat out on his little porch gazing through the sunlight to the eastward. Far away, yet not so far, loomed the outline of the Cumberland, as a shadow rising out of the mist, towering above the lesser mountains nearer. All round him in his own community men were making silent and cautious preparation for some unknown deed. Beyond the hills, where the agitation was greatest, men were making preparation for terrible destruction. Orders were being sent hurriedly through the country, the courier being unknown and unseen.

Wade knew that the messenger of destruction, if not death, was "the Wolf, Night-Watch," the very person whom he had long been looking for and feeling for, but to no avail, for he had found him not. The very men whom he would have at one time killed on sight, had he known then as much as he did now, were those who had on more than one occasion saved him from death, men whom he now believed had wound themselves so thoroughly about his heart as to cause him to love rather than hate them. Through his mind ran thoughts of things that had been done so long as to be almost forgotten by others, but they clung to his memory as a reminder of what men would do again. In his heart was nothing but hatred for the man who shot Fred Conover to death, and he would far rather put a bullet through his heart than any other man he knew, even Al Thompson. Thompson, he knew, was always somewhere about looking for him, that he might put a bullet into his brain or a knife into his heart.

Wade was to the Judsons a seemingly fast friend, and therefore must be firmly against the Thompsons. Regarded in this light, it was only necessary to meet one of the avowed enemy and someone would go out of this world of trouble.

Time passes swiftly over our heads. It won't wait for any human being. The pace of humanity is entirely too slow for old Father Time, who only looks once as he glides swiftly on. Things can't all happen in a day. Sometimes one could look out through the darkened gloom and see away in the distance the brightness of a flame leaping high and sending great sparks heavenward. Some poor deluded human being, some weak human being, was no doubt losing all of his earthly possessions—his tobacco crop. Sometimes one could listen out over the star-lit earth, when all else slumbered peacefully in the very arms of nature, and catch the faint report of a rifle shot; and had he been nearer to the scene of the conflict could perhaps have heard the groan of a dying soul as it made its last farewell gasp and flitted into eternity. Such is life where strife and turmoil are uppermost in the human heart and mind.

Wade looked back for one moment over the vast expanse of the past and saw all; then he closed his eyes and looked into the future. It was all blank; his mind kept to the present. For one moment he was gazing into the dark eyes of Nora Judson, the next into the translucent waters of the little brook on the banks of which he had sat whiling away many happy hours beside the girl who was such an ardent student of nature, and in whom he had never dreamed there could have been so much hidden beauty and real wisdom. Slowly had she ascended the ladder of knowledge, through his personal instructions and the books he gave her, until she stood on the last round on the tips of her toes, reaching far out into the unknown in eagerness to grasp what she believed lurked there. She was fit to be a queen, to be the companion of the highest man in the land.

On the other hand, Wade had gained no actual knowledge nor wisdom. He had, however, gained a knowledge of nature which could not have been impressed upon him through the mere reading of books. He had gained a knowledge of the great necessity of higher education; he had gained a certain knowledge of how desperate men would struggle for what they believed was rightly their own, how they would lay down their lives for the principles which they thought were just and true. Such knowledge is well gained, and assists the educated and enlightened to a higher plane of equal thought. The person who never reads has no knowledge of what is going on in the outside world, and we dare to say that the person who reads only knows nothing of the great struggle going on in the hearts of the down-trodden farmers whose lives have been made burdensome by the great evil, the greatest of all other evils, the powerful trusts, trusts which hold at the throat of every farmer a great, sharp knife, one so sharp that it is useless to move forward or backward lest life become extinct. The farmer does not stand alone in the path of this terrible evil, though he has taken the brunt of the battle in an effort to unburden all humanity of the awful weight of this heavy yoke, bearing down on the poor of the entire country with such crushing force that the time has come when one can hardly maintain an existence so strong is the yoke and so securely has it been fastened around the necks of humanity everywhere.

Jack Wade thought of all this, thought of all that had happened. Above Tom Judson was lying in bed with a bullet hole through the fleshy part of his left leg just below the thigh. Across the brook old Jim Thompson was lying in bed writhing in agony because of a bullet hole through his right shoulder. This was the result of conditions brought about by the everlasting drudgery of mankind.

In both cases the patients were rapidly mending, the danger point long since having been passed, and each was cursing the other and swearing revenge. Wade sat with heart and head bowed, therefore did not know of the approach of Rover, his good friend, until he felt his furry head rub against his hand.

"Good friend," he said, looking into the eyes of the great brown dog, "when you come to see me in this manner I always look for disastrous results. What can it be now, old friend? Is your mistress well, or has a calamity befallen her? Is her brother worse, or what has happened?"

The dog wagged his tail in a friendly fashion. Suddenly he looked toward the road and barked. Wade glanced hastily in the direction indicated by the dog's head and there, grazing leisurely beside the fence, was the old brindle cow, the cow that had in times past brought him in close touch with the once wild flower of the valley. A spark of joy leaped into his sorrowful heart, for he knew that the mistress of the valley would soon come in search of the cow, and he would be happy then. With eyes cast in the direction of Peter Judson's home, he still sat thinking, just thinking, unconsciously smoothing the hairy head of the good old dog Rover, who seemed perfectly satisfied to sit on his haunches and listen to the tinkling of the cowbells as the cows munched grass lower down in the valley. Roundabout the little wild birds were singing sweetly in their freedom, their joyous notes swelling through the gathering gloom. No thought of trouble was in their hearts, no sorrowful gleam came from their eyes. All was bright sunshine in their lives. What if some poor wanderer was going to be murdered that night? What if some luckless farmer should have his home burned from around him or his horded tobacco and corn destroyed? What if some child or its mother should wail out their sorrowful notes of discomfort and grief before another day's sun shall have risen? Those things are nothing to the lonesome little bird, which would continue its silent slumber through the awful din of fire-fraught flame, or through the loud reports of many rifles, or the yelling of the infuriated Riders as they rode hastily through the midnight darkness on to do the terrible deed and bring suffering to many unsuspecting victims. Those things were nothing to them; they sang on gleefully. But the harmony of their song soon died away, for there came through the stillness of the moment the soft sweet tones of Nora Judson's voice as she wended slowly down the road in search of old Brindle. Rover flopped his ears and wagged his tail, while a gladsome whine emanated from his throat.

Wade, followed closely by Rover, went out to the road to meet Nora. Jack smiled as he extended his hand; she smiled also, then laughed heartily, the echo resounding down through the woodland and back to the hills.

"Are you going to assist me to drive the cow home?" she asked sweetly.

"Provided you don't get in a hurry," replied Jack.

She didn't blush as she used to on occasions of this same nature, though she was a little shy. Her face was as beautiful as a newborn rose, and her hair was done up like a schoolgirl's is done when she expects to have company; her skirt was not of the tattered and worn variety that she wore when old Brindle made her first escape, and her slippers were tan—those Jack had brought as a present. They fitted her trim foot nicely. Her ankles were covered with lisle thread hose, not homespun cotton, like she wore when Wade first saw her. He now stepped to her side, and together they rounded up old Brindle, and soon had her headed homeward.

When Wade looked into Nora's smiling face he knew that he was an ardent lover, and he fully concluded he would never do one thing to offend her.

She looked into his face, her own beaming with joy.

"I'm never in a hurry to leave you, Jack."

"Thank you. Will it always be just so, Nora?"

"Always—that is, so long as both of us are alive, but——"

"But what? Don't hesitate, speak out."

"But times are fearful now. Tom will be out in another day or two, and then——"

"And then?" repeated Wade, although he felt it was not necessary for her to finish the sentence.

"And then," she continued, "something terrible may happen. Tom fumes all the time, cursing the luck that threw him so long idle, when he could have been doing so much. And then," she said again, looking tenderly at him, "your life is in imminent danger. You should keep a close watch at all times on Al Thompson. He hates you, and is only waiting for an opportunity to kill you. Will you keep a close watch, Jack?"

"I shall keep a close watch. Not that I have any fears of death, or that Thompson will kill me, but for your sake."

"For my sake, Jack? For my sake only?"

"For your sake only. Let me tell you, little girl, I have but one hope this side of heaven, but one longing. The hope is for you, the longing is for your happiness. Don't you know that you have transformed my life? Once I was a raging lion, to-day I am meek and lowly. The only ray of hope within me was transplanted by your own life. I have studied you from the beginning of your growth until you began to bud, and on until you were a full-grown flower; how, then, can I help but be interested in you? You have torn from my heart most evil designs."

"Were there ever such designs there, Jack?"

"Once, yes. None now. I have much to tell you at some more opportune time; not now."

"If I may venture to say it, I am very glad to have been an assistance to you, because you have been as a shining light to my dark pathway from the first time we met. Dear old Brindle," she said.

"Dear old Brindle," repeated Wade softly. "And now we have old Brindle home again, and we must part, though not forever, I hope. Tomorrow, if all goes well through the night, I should like to take you over to the brook fishing. Will you go?"

"We might be endangering our lives to go over there just at this time. That is Thompson's territory, don't you know?"

"Yes, I know; but what's the use to go through life full of fears for what we might meet? The obstacles which we naturally encounter are so nearly insurmountable as to discourage us, so therefore let us not look forward to those which might confront us."

"I shall admit that the natural ones are many, but caution is what has been taught me. We should be grateful to God that they are not more numerous."

"Will you accompany me, then?"

"I shall, if all goes well to-night."