arrived, mingled with the other men employed on the construction of the
railroad. While the young man and Barbara were talking about
moonshiners, one of them had drifted near and he gave them a keen
glance at the first mention of the word. Now he turned, but turned most
casually, to follow with his own, their glances at Joe Lorey. Then he
sauntered off, and, as he passed Holton, seemed to exchange meaning
glances with him.

Soon afterward Lorey turned away. The day was getting on toward noon.
The long tramp back to his lonely cabin in the mountains would consume
some hours. The sight of all these strangers, all this work on the new
railroad worried him, made him unhappy, added to and multiplied the
apprehension which for weeks had filled his heart about Madge Brierly
and young Layson. He battled with a mixture of emotions. There was no
ounce of cowardice, in Joe. Never had he met a situation in his life
before which he had feared or which had proved too strong for him. All
his battles, so far, and they had been many and been various, as was
inevitable from the nature of his secret calling, had resulted in full
victories for his mighty strength of body or his quick foot, certain
hand, keen knowledge of the mountains and the woods resource and wit
that went with these; but now things seemed to baffle him. His soul was
struggling against acknowledgment of it, while his mind continually told
him it was true. Everything seemed, now, to be against him.

He knew, but would not admit, even to himself, that the march of
progress must inevitably drive out of existence the still hidden in his
cave and make the marketing of its illicit product doubly hazardous,
nay, quite impossible. He knew that he must give it up; he realized that
real good sense would send him home, that day, to bury the last trace of
it in some spot where it never could be found again. But his stubborn