chist. Hit always fetches 'em. Don't you know me yet?"

Ralph murmured a low negative.

"Well, then, I'll tell you I'm——"

A sound of feet striking the floor heavily was heard from one of the other rooms, and was followed by the voice of Mr. Dopples, calling out:

"Tildy! Oh, Tildy! Where be ye, Tildy?"

CHAPTER III.

Ralph Continues His Journey.

The form at Ralph's bedside grasped his hand again in a warning pressure.

"Keep quiet," it said. "I'm your Aunt Tildy. I have something to say to you by and by."

The figure vanished, and presently the lad heard his aunt say:

"What are you fussin' about, Mr. Dopples? Can't a body stir 'thout you havin' a fit?"

"I only wanted to know where ye were," was the shock headed man's reply. "What are ye progin' round this time o' night for?"

"Cause I want to. Now shet up and go to sleep."

While Ralph was wondering what on earth his aunt, whom he had never seen before, could want to say to him at such an hour, the talking in the other room died away, and was succeeded soon by a resonant snoring, that denoted Mr. Dopples' prompt obedience to his wife's last command.

Shortly thereafter she swept softly into the boy's room, wrapped in a shawl and seated herself at his side.

"Are you awake?" she said in a whisper.

Ralph said, "Yes;" and propped himself in a listening attitude.

"You think strange, I reckon, at my comin' to you in this way," she began. "You've never seen and hardly ever heard of us before. But when I learned the way your grandpap have treated you, I felt sorry, and I want to help you what little I can."

"I'm mightily obliged, aunt," replied Ralph, still puzzled how to connect this friendly wish with the object of such a visit as she was making tonight.

"Hit was a brother of mine as fought that fight with John Vaughn. I used to believe in the feud, but I don't now. It's a wicked thing to seek people's lives. Both sides have suffered enough, Ralph, and I say let there be peace."

"Amen," muttered the lad heartily.

"But what I wanted to let you know was about this Captain Shard, as Dopples wants you to go and see. My man never quarrels with nobody—bless his old soul! Therefore, he never 'spicious that any of his friends would want to, either. There's where he is wrong."

"Yes; but I don't see how that can apply to Captain Shard, whom I never heard of before."

"I know you don't, but I do. Captain Shard's mother was a Vaughn. Now, do you see?"

"Good gracious! But it seems to me as if that don't amount to much. Why should this man want to hurt me?"

"Hold on. This man Shard's mother was sister to the Vaughn who killed your father, and whom my brother had fought on account of it. Don't you see? When Shard learns who you are, his Vaughn blood is more than apt to prompt him to do you some harm."

"They don't shoot people in the town the way we do in the mountains, aunt. I've read that the law is too strong for that."

"There's other ways of hurtin' a poor boy 'sides takin' a gun to him. If he chose, he might harm you in other ways. I've heard it said that folks with plenty of money can do 'most anything in the city."

"Well, aunt, I'm much obliged to you for letting me know. If I strike Columbia, and meet up with Captain Shard, I shall certainly remember what you say."

"Good night, then. Don't tell Dopples what I've said. He's a thinkin' the world of Shard. I like him, too; but then he don't know I'm a Granger, I reckon."

After Mrs. Dopples retired, Ralph soon fell asleep. When he wakened again daylight was at hand, and Mr. Dopples was kindling a fire.

Breakfast came early, then Ralph bade his kindly friends farewell, and resumed his journey as the sun was peeping over the easterly summits of the Blue Ridge.

"Don't forget to see Shard," called the shock headed man, as the boy reached the public road. "He'll help you out."

"I may see Shard," thought Ralph; "but I'll be careful how he sees me. I'm going to get out of the range of this feud if I have to travel clear to the seacoast."

As he had a lunch along—given him by Mrs. Dopples—he did not stop anywhere for dinner, but trudged resolutely on at a three mile an hour gait.

His young limbs, hardened by constant mountain climbing, did not tire readily, while his experience of traveling enabled him to keep the general course he wished to go, notwithstanding the branch trails and the many windings caused by the ruggedness of the country.

The latter portion of the afternoon was occupied in climbing a long mountain range that overtopped most of the others in sight. The sun was nearly setting as he reached the summit; then he uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

Behind him was a confused jumble of peaks and ridges as far as the eye could reach. It was the region he had left—his own native wilds.

Before him stretched an undulating panorama of plain, valley, and gentle hills. There were patches of woodland, great plantations with here and there variegated spots that Ralph supposed to be villages.

It was his first view of the level country beyond the Blue Ridge, and he surveyed it with intense interest.

"They say it stretches that way clear to the seacoast," he said to himself as he began to descend the mountain. "I don't see how they can see any distance with no big ridges to look off from."

This idea—otherwise laughable—was perfectly natural to a lad who had never seen anything but wild and rugged mountains in his life.

He quickened his pace, wishing to get down into the region of farms and houses before darkness should come. A rising cloud in the southeast also occasioned him some concern.

"Looks mighty like there might be rain in that cloud," he thought. "I've got matches, but I'd hate to have to spend a wet night out in these woods."

The gun went down and the black south-easterly haze came up, with semi-tropical celerity. Ralph was still in the lonely region of forest and crag, when a whirl of wind struck him in the face and a few drops spattered on the leaves of the chestnuts around.

The brief southern twilight was blotted out almost at once by the overspreading clouds, and young Granger became conscious that he had somehow missed the trail.

"That is odd," he muttered. "It was just here a minute ago."

Something like a yellow gleam caught his eye, and he plunged along in its course in a reckless manner, for he was nervous with anxiety.

Being in a strange region, with a storm on the point of breaking, was not pleasant even to older nerves, when added to the natural terrors of a night in the woods, without any other company than one's brooding thoughts.

"Hello! What's this?" he exclaimed as he almost ran against an obstruction that looked not unlike a steep house roof.

The odor of tar and resin pervaded the air. Ralph groped his way around it, feeling here and there with his hands.

"It's a tar kiln, sure as preaching!" ejaculated he, at length. "There ought to be some kind of a shack about, looks like."

He was still searching, when the wind, which had been increasing, brought with it a sudden downpour of rain. Ralph was about to rush for a tree to shelter himself, when a flash of lightning lighted up the kiln and surrounding objects with a pale, brief glare.

"Ha—there she is!" exclaimed Ralph, discovering the object of his search. "I almost knew the man as put up this kiln must have had a shelter of some kind."

He made his way to a low, brush covered frame near by, arriving there just in time. The darkness was intense, except when cloven by the lightning, while the fall of rain was drenching and furious.

The shack leaked some, but it was an immense improvement over a tree for shelter.

"Let's see where we are, anyhow," said Ralph, producing some matches, one of