"I bet a hundred revenuers in these mountains have looked for that there
still," he thought, "an' no one ever found it, yet. Forty years it's
been thar--through three generations o' th' Loreys--damn 'em!--an' no
one's ever squealed on 'em. I ... wonder...."

A look of vicious craft and malice wholly drove away the searching
curiosity which had possessed the old man's features. For a time he
plainly planned some work of bitter vengefulness. Then, with shaking
head, he evidently abandoned the enticing thought.

"Too resky," he concluded, and edged a little nearer to the thicket's
edge. "Might stir up old--"

He paused suddenly, alert and keenly listening. From another path than
that by which he had approached the place there came the sound of voices
raised in talk and laughter. He easily identified them, to his great
surprise, as those of some young mountain-girl and some young bluegrass
gentleman. Their tones and accents told this story plainly. Surprised
and curious, he went farther, his head bent, with study of the voices,
peering, meanwhile, through the thicket's tangle to get sight of them
as soon as they appeared within the clearing. Suddenly he dropped his
jaw in blank amazement.

"Frank Layson!" he exclaimed.

The girl's voice he did not recognize, but knew, of course, from its
peculiar accent, that it was some mountain maiden's.

"Well!" he exclaimed beneath his breath in absolute astonishment. "I