bringing his right hand down heavily upon the darky's shoulder, emitted
a wild scream, absolutely terrifying in its savage ferocity. With a howl
Neb dropped upon his knees, praying in an ecstasy of fear.

"Oh, good Mister Painter, good Mister Debbil--" he began.

Inasmuch as he was not devoured upon the instant, he finally ventured to
look up and Joe laughed loudly.

So great was the relief of the old negro that he did not think of anger.
A sickly smile spread slowly on his face. "De Lawd be praised!" he said.
"Why, hit's a man!"

"Reckon I am," said Joe. "Generally pass for one." Then, although he
knew quite well just why the man had come, from whom, for whom, he asked
sternly to confuse him: "What _you_ doin' in these mountings?"

"I's lookin' fo' my massa, young Marse Frank Layson, suh," Neb answered
timidly.

"You needn't to go fur to find him," Lorey answered bitterly. "You
needn't to go fur to find him."

The old negro looked at him, puzzled and frightened by his grim tone and
manner.

"Why--why--" he began. "Is it hereabouts he hunts fo' deer? He wrote
home he was findin' good spo't in the mountains, huntin' deer."

Joe's mouth twitched ominously, involuntarily. The mere presence of Old