"Law, yes! They'll take anybody in. I know they're to home 'cause
they was a fixin' t' leave the mill when I left 'bout an hour ago.
Was the river up much when you come acrost?" As the native spoke
he was still peering uneasily into the woods.

"I did not cross the river. How far is it to this Matthews place,
and how do I go?"

"Jest foller this Old Trail. Hit'll take you right thar. Good road
all th' way. 'Bout three mile, I'd say. Did you come from
Springfield or St. Louis, maybe?"

The man lifted his satchel from the rock as he answered: "No, I do
not live in either Springfield or St. Louis. Thank you, very much,
for your assistance. I will go on, now, for I must hurry, or night
will overtake me, and I shall not be able to find the path."

"Oh, hit's a heap lighter when you git up on th' hill 'bove th'
fog," said Jed, lowering his leg from the horse's neck, and
settling the meal sack, preparatory to moving. "But I'd a heap
rather hit was you than me a goin' up on Dewey t'night." He was
still looking up the trail. "Reckon you must be from Kansas City
or Chicago? I heard tell they're mighty big towns."

The stranger's only answer was a curt "Good-by," as his form
vanished in the mist.

Jed turned and dug his heels vigorously in the old mare's flanks,
as he ejaculated softly, "Well, I'll be dod durned! Must be from