remarked Allan, as he took the rope, and sought a position directly above the hanging scout.

"How is it, Davy?" he asked, while lowering the noose.

"If you mean how much longer I could stand it, I'd say not a big lot," replied the one addressed. "You see, the old tree cuts my hands just fierce; and I've been twisting around here so long now that I'm gettin' tired. How're you goin' to fix it, Allan? Might toss the loop over my head; but I'm afraid my neck wouldn't hold out. If it was Giraffe now—"

"Here, you just let up on Giraffe, and pay attention to what Allan's goin' to tell you; hear?" called out the party mentioned.

"Do you think you could hold on with one arm, and get the other through the loop?" continued the Maine boy. "Of course, if you can't, why, I might swing it around, and you could somehow stick your feet through; when we'd drag the loop up under your arms. How about that, Davy?"

But Davy made a test, and declared that one hand would hold him for a brief time. So, in this way, the rope was finally placed under both arms, and tightened.

"Now, get hold here, fellows, and give a pull!" said Allan; "hold on, not so rough about it, Giraffe, or you'll rub his face against the rocks and make it worse than if he'd let go, and dropped down. Here he comes, boys!"

"Heave ho!" sang out the scouts, and foot by foot they drew the unlucky acrobat once more to the surface.

"Got off pretty slick that time, eh, Davy?" demanded Step Hen, after the other had been landed, and Bob White was coiling the rope around himself again.

"Never knew me to miss doin' that, did you, Step Hen?" queried the other; and from the flippant tone in which he said this it was plainly evident that the lesson had been lost on him; and that Davy would be doing his customary stunts right along.

The hike was presently resumed, and the little adventure reckoned a thing of the past. Shortly afterwards they came suddenly on a man, with an old vehicle, and a slab-sided horse that looked half starved. The ramshackle wagon bed was covered to about the depth of three feet with poor looking straw, that seemed to have done duty a long time.

As for the man himself, he was a typical mountaineer, thin and scrawny, with a small, weasened face, and keen, snapping eyes. Bob White instantly pulled his hat down over his face as he saw the man.

Thad noticed that the other looked alarmed at sight of these eight khaki-clad boys strung out along the mountain road. Indeed, he had the appearance of a man who would have turned and fled, only that he was afraid to do so after finding himself face to face with what looked like a squad of United States regulars, or at the least, North Carolina militia, on the hike.

He returned the greetings of the boys with sundry nods of his head, and urged his old nag along by several whacks from the hickory rod he held in his hand in lieu of a whip. So ramshackle vehicle and scared driver vanished around the bend which had concealed the scouts from his view until it was too late to run.

"Looked like he'd seen a ghost!" suggested Step Hen, with a chuckle.

"Well, you can't blame him, if he saw you roll your eyes, and make that face of yours look like thirty cents," remarked Bumpus, cuttingly.

"He had mountain dew hidden under that straw," remarked Bob White; "I remember the old fellow right well, and I'm glad he was that frightened he didn't think to take at look at me. Nate Busby is his name. He always was connected with Old Phin, and the others who make the moonshine stuff further up in the hills. Right now, you can believe me, suh, he's on his way with that load, to hide it where somebody from town can find it."

"He don't know what to make of us, seems like?" suggested Giraffe.

"That is the truth," added Thad. "I thought his eyes would drop out, he stared so hard. Seemed to me as if he actually expected some of us to surround him, and examine his load. How he did whip that old nag of his. The beast kicked up his heels, and galloped, perhaps for the first time in years."