The dynamite which he had stolen and which nestled in his game-sack
comforted him, although he did not know how he would use it. Many times,
as he worked through the narrow trails, jumped from stepping-stone to
stepping-stone in crossing mountain-streams, pulled himself up steep and
rocky slopes by clutching swaying branches, or rough-angled boulders, he
let his left hand slip down to the side of the old game-sack, where,
through the soft leather, he could plainly feel the smooth, terrific
cylinder.

He swore a mighty mountain oath that none of the advancing forces ever
should win victory of him. If the revenuers ever tried to get him, let
God help them, for they would need help; if Frank Layson stole his girl
from him, then let God help him, also, for even more than would the
revenuers the young bluegrass gentleman would need assistance from some
mighty power.

But a fate was closing on Joe Lorey which all his uncouth strength could
not avert. As he had left the railway those two men whom simple-minded
Miss Alathea had supposed were engineers, but who had not mingled with
the throng of railway builders had looked at Horace Holton for
confirmation of their guess. In a quick glance, so keen that they could
not mistake its meaning so instantaneous that none else could suspect
that the three men were even casual acquaintances, he had told them they
had guessed aright.

They sauntered off and disappeared in the direction whence the
mountaineer had gone, and, though his feet were well accustomed to the
trails and were as expert in their climbing as any mountaineer's for
miles, these men proved more expert; though his ear was as acute as a
wild animal's, so silently they moved that never once a hint that they