CHAPTER VII


The young moonshiner stiffened instantly as he neared the group of newly
arrived travellers, for the first word he heard from them was the name
of him whom, among all foreigners, he hated with most bitterness. An old
darky, plainly the servant of the party, and such a darky as the
mountain country had never seen before, was inquiring of a bystander
where he could find "Marse" Frank Layson.

The man of whom he asked the question had not the least idea, nor had
anyone about the railroad working. Most of the men had never heard of
Layson, and the few who had become acquainted with him through chance
meetings since he had been stopping in his cabin in the mountains, knew
most indefinitely where the place was located. Lorey could have quickly
given the information, but had no thought of doing so. He stood,
instead, staring at the party with wondering but not good-natured eyes,
and said no word. He certainly was not the one to do a favor to his
rival or his rival's friends.

The group of strangers were thrown into confusion by the difficulty of
getting news of him they sought, and, while they discussed the matter,
Lorey had a chance to study them. He stood upon the rough plank
platform, leaning on his rifle, with the game-bag and its burden of
purloined explosive hanging slouchily beneath one arm, his coon-skin cap
down well upon his eyes, those eyes, half closed, gazing at the
newcomers with all the curiosity which they would have shown at sight of
savages from some far foreign shore.