on my tramps. Where do they keep themselves? What has this Burke Lawson done, to stir the people?”

“You don’t call your santers real tramps, do you? Why folks is as thick as ticks up here, though they don’t knock elbows like what they do where you cum from. They don’t holler out ter ’tract yer attention, neither. But they’re here.”

“Let’s hear more of Burke Lawson.” Truedale gripped him from the seething mass of humanity portrayed by White, as the one promising most colour and interest. “Just where does Burke live?”

“Burke? Gawd! Burke don’t live anywhere. He is a born floater. He scrooges around a place and raises the devil, then he just naturally floats off. But he nearly always comes back. Since the trap-settin’ a time back, he has been mighty scarce in these parts; but any day he may turn up.”

“The trap, eh? What about that?” With this Truedale turned about again, for Jim, having finished his work on the gun, had placed the weapon on its pegs on the wall and had drawn near the fire. He ran his hand through his crisp, gray hair until it stood on end and gave him a peculiarly bristling appearance. He was about to enjoy himself. He was as keen for gossip as any cabin woman of the hills, but Jim was an artist about sharing his knowledge. However, once he decided to share, he shared royally.

“I’ve been kinder waitin’ fur yo’ to show some interest in us-all,” he began, “it’s a plain sign of yo’ gettin’ on. I writ the same to old Doc McPherson yesterday! ‘When he takes to noticin’,’ I writ, ‘he’s on the mend.’”

Conning laughed good naturedly. “Oh! I’m on the mend, all right,” he said.

“Now as to that trap business,” Jim took up the story, “I’ll have to go back some and tell yo’ about the Greysons and Jed Martin—they all be linked like sassages. Pete Greyson lives up to Lone Dome. Pete came from stock; he ain’t trash by a long come, but he can act like it! Pete’s forbears drank wine and talked like lords; Pete has ter rely on mountain dew and that accounts fur the difference in his goin’s-on; but once he’s sober, he’s quality—is Pete. Pete’s got two darters—Marg an’ Nella-Rose. Old Doc McPherson use’ ter call ’em types, whatever that means. Marg is a type, sure and sartin, but Nella-Rose is a little no-count—that’s what I say. But blame it all, it’s Nella-Rose as has set the mountains goin’, so far as I can see. Fellers come courtin’ Marg and they just slip through her fingers an’ Nella-Rose gets ’em. She don’t want ’em ’cept to play with and torment Marg. Gawd! how them two gals do get each other edgy. Round about Lone Dome they call Nella-Rose the doney-gal—that meaning ‘sweetheart’; she’s responsible for more trouble than a b’ar with a sore head, or Burke Lawson on a tear.”

Conning was becoming vitally interested and showed it, to Jim’s delight; this was a dangerous state for White, he was likely, once started and flattered, to tell more than was prudent.

“Jed Martin”—Jim gave a chuckle—“has been tossed between them two gals like a hot corn pone. He’d take Nella-Rose quick enough if she’d have him, but barrin’ her, he hangs to Marg so as ter be nigh Nella-Rose in any case. And right here Burke Lawson figgers. Burke’s got two naturs, same as old Satan. Marg can play on one and get him plumb riled up to anythin’; Nella-Rose can twist him around her finger and make him act like the Second Coming.”

Conning called a halt. “What’s the Second Coming?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“Meaning?—good as a Bible character,” Jim explained huffily. “Gawd, man! do your own thinkin’. I can’t talk an’ splanify ter onct.”

“Oh! I see. Well, go on, Jim.”

“There be times of the moon when I declare that no-count Nella-Rose just plain seems possessed; has ter do somethin’ and does it! Three months ago, come Saturday, or thereabouts, she took it into her head to worst Marg at every turn and let it out that she was goin’ to round up all the fellers and take her pick! She had the blazin’ face ter come down here and tell me that! Course Marg knew it, but the two most consarned didn’t—meaning Jed and Burke. Least they suspected—but warn’t sure. Jed meant to get Burke out o’ the way so he could have a clear space to co’t Nella-Rose, so he aimed to shoot one o’ Burke’s feet just enough to lay him up—Jed is the slow, calculatin’ kind and an almighty sure shot. He reckoned Burke couldn’t walk up Lone Dome with a sore foot, so he laid for him, meanin’ afterward to say he was huntin’ an’ took Burke for a ’possum. Well, Burke got wind of the plot; I’m thinkin’ Marg put a flea in his ear, anyway he set a trap just by the path leading from the trail to Lone Dome. Gawd! Jed planted his foot inter it same as if he meant ter, and what does that Burke do but take a walk with Nella-Rose right past the place where Jed was caught! ’Corse he was yellin’ somethin’ terrible. They helped Jed out and I reckon Nella-Rose was innocent enough, but Jed writ up the account ’gainst Burke and Burke floated off for a spell. He ain’t floated back yet—not yet! But so long as Nella-Rose is above ground he’ll naturally cum back.”

“And Nella-Rose, the little no-count; did she repay Jed, the poor cuss?”

“Nella-Rose don’t repay no one—she ain’t more’n half real, whatever way you put it. But just see how this fixes a sheriff, will yo’? Knowing what I do, I can’t jail either o’ them chaps with a cl’ar conscience. Gawd! I’d like to pass a law to cage all females and only let ’em out with a string to their legs!” Then White laughed reminiscently.

“What now, Jim?”

“Gals!” White fairly spit out the word. “Gals!” There was an eloquent pause, then more quietly: “Jest when yo’ place ’em and hate ’em proper, they up and do somethin’ to melt yo’ like snow on Lone Dome in May. I was harkin’ back to the little white hen and Nella-Rose. There ain’t much chance to have a livin’ pet up to Greyson’s place. Anything fit to eat is et. Pete drinks the rest. But once Nella-Rose came totin’ up here on a cl’ar, moonlight evenin’ with somethin’ under her little, old shawl. ‘Jim’ she says—wheedlin’ and coaxin’—‘I want yo’ to keep this here hen fo’ me. I’ll bring its keep, but I love it, and I can’t see it—killed!’ That gal don’t never let tears fall—they jest wet her eyes and make ’em shine. With that she let loose the most owdacious white bantam and scattered some corn on the floor; then she sat down and laughed like an imp when the foolish thing hopped up to her and flopped onter her lap. Well, I kept the sassy little hen—there wasn’t anything else ter do—but one day Marg, she followed Nella-Rose up and when she saw what was going on, she stamped in and cried out: ‘So! yo’ can have playthings while us-all go starved! Yo’ can steal what’s our’n,—an’ with that she took the bantam and fo’ I could say a cuss, she wrung that chicken’s neck right fo’ Nella-Rose’s eyes!”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Conning; “the young brute! And the other one—what did she do?”

“She jest looked at me—her eyes swimmin’. Nella-Rose don’t talk much when she’s hurt, but she don’t forget. I tell yo’, young feller, bein’ a sheriff in this settlement ain’t no joke. Yo’ know folks too well and see the rights and wrongs more’n is good for plain justice.”

“Well?” Jim rose and stretched himself, “yo’ won’t go on the b’ar hunt ter-morrer?”

“No, Jim, but I’ll walk part of the way with you. When do you start?”

“’Bout two o’ the mornin’.”

“Then I’ll turn in. Good-night, old man! You’ve given me a great evening. I feel as if I were suddenly projected into a crowd with human problems smashing into each other for all they’re worth. You cannot