thinking,—then as if impelled by the spirits of the air she thanked him in her simple, innocent way, while her head dropped until her chin rested on her bosom.

"I read your book through," she said, breaking the silence, "and hit—it has done me so much good."

"Tell me about it." They had reached an open grassy spot bordered by thick brush and tall trees. "Sit here while you tell me something from your heart."

Wade had not failed to notice that she often corrected herself in speech at times when she deliberated.

"And the birds?" she asked, looking toward the blue sky with a far-off expression.

"Never mind them,"—hastily. "We shall get all the birds we shall want to take home later. Now, let us have one good talk together out here in the open, on the side of this lovely mountain, where none save God shall see us or hear us, where we can open our hearts to each other."

She sat down in a manner not unbecoming anywhere, and he sat opposite her.

"It must be mighty lonely fer ye all by yerself—yourself," she said.

"It is, quite, just now; but I shall have company soon."

She looked up sharply, inquiringly. "When and who?" painfully.

"Can't just tell when, but sometime in the near future."

She was still looking at him questioningly.

"I'm going to have a family on the Redmond farm," he continued; "am building there now."

She felt relieved.

"Haint ye got a sweetheart back yonder in the big city?" she asked.

He looked into her eyes, but she cunningly evaded the stare.

"Won't you be my sweetheart?" he asked, smiling. He saw the crimson creep to her face and she lowered her head.

"Ye didn't answer my question," she said softly, head still drooping.

"I have not. I have no sweetheart anywhere. Women never cared for me"—sorrowfully.

The little brown poppies waved their heads in wild delight, while the chirping birds sang songs of rejoicing from the treetops, as they looked upon this peculiar mountain scene.

"What did ye come into this country for?" she asked abruptly.

He smiled.

"You don't believe me. If I should say I came here to rid the country of the terrible band of destructive Nightriders, would you believe it?"

She started violently.

"Don't say that," she said; "don't ye do it."

"Why not? If I tell you I am here for my health, you don't believe that. Why not say something equally as ridiculous?"

"Nobody believes ye come here for your health, an' everybody might believe ye had an idea ye could rid the country of Nightriders. They're ready to believe anything of a newcomer. They think he's a spy, an' they mout think anything that they take a notion to think. My warnin' to ye is that ye better not say that, ye better take it back as a joke right now."

"You wouldn't tell on me, would you?"

"Ye better take it back."

"I won't take anything back," he said firmly, but smiling.

"Ye frighten me, Jack."

She spoke with all the tenderness of her heart.

"I don't mean to do that. I'm very docile, I'm just opening my life to you because I—I think I like you and——"

"Ye needn't," she said, blushing. "I know what ye would say. Dad don't like for the gentlemen to talk to me that away."

"Dad is far away just now, and if I say I like you, Nora, it is because I do, and your Dad can know that much if he so desires. I do not mean to deceive him, nor would I deceive you for all the world and this big mountain thrown in." He peered down into those great dark eyes, which met his gaze with unflinching, gleaming admiration. "It's so pleasant here," he added.

"Ain't it pleasant in the big city?" she asked doubtfully.

The outer world now held a certain charm which to her had not been known before.

"Not so pleasant as it is here on the mountain side," he replied. "Listen, Nora. In the city you cannot hear the rippling waters as they dance down the rocky pathway over the hill to the stream beyond. You cannot listen to the song of the wild morning bird as he cries out in his great freedom from his lofty perch in yonder tree top; you cannot inhale the pure fresh air as it glides gently over the brushy way; you cannot hear the rustling of the dry leaves as you do here, therefore, it is not so pleasant in the big city."

"Ye gets used to that here," she said.

"You get used to the clanging bells, to the snorting whistles, and to the dusty, smoky atmosphere in the city, too, but there is still a difference. There you see people at all hours of the day and night busily rushing to and fro, this way and that, rushing, pushing, jamming, nothing more."

"I think I would like that for a while," she said.

"No, you wouldn't. Not long. It is not near so pleasant there as it is here, and by your side." He slipped his arm around her waist. She made no effort to disengage it. "It's so ple——"

"What's that?" she said, startled. A rifle shot, followed by a wild yell, broke the peaceful stillness of the mountain air. She leaned her head far over and listened. "That's Al Thompson," she cried. "Let's be a-goin'. When he's that away I don't want to meet him. He's dangerous." She broke from his grasp and stood erect, listening.

"I have no fear of Al Thompson, nor any other man," he said, rising. "Where this arm falls power falls with it. I am monarch of the hill just now."

He was dramatic, and she admired his great physique and brave words.

"Ye don't know Al," she said. "He's been drinkin', an' is not accountable for his actions, so we'd better be a-gittin'."

"If you have no confidence in my strength," he said angrily, "we shall go."

She felt a little hurt.

"I didn't mean to," she said slowly, "but I want you to go so's you'll be safe."

They started off, but before they cleared the opening that hideous yell broke the otherwise dead silence, and Al Thompson darted through the thicket like a madman, brandishing his pistol over his head, and with a roar of anger, cried out:

"I've got ye now, durn ye', an' ye'll never see daylight agin. Hit ther road, gal, while I lay him out like a dog."

Al was coming nearer and nearer as he spoke. Wade did not flinch, but stood like a man. Nora stepped in front of him to protect him from the onslaught, but she was like a twig in the hands of that maddened giant. He caught her by the shoulder and cast her aside as though she had been chaff before a strong wind. However, he did not reckon on the powerful agility of his athletic antagonist, who, before the wild man knew what had happened, knocked the pistol from his maniacal grasp. One of Wade's fists then shot out and struck Thompson squarely on the nose. He went down, grunting under the smart of pain, while Wade stood over him like a heroic victor, not deigning to strike his enemy while he was down. Nora's admiration for Jack's daring and skill grew stronger as she saw him standing there over the prostrate form of his victim, whom he could have killed had he chosen to do so.

"What ye goin' ter do with me since you got me down?" asked Al doggedly, not in the least defiantly.

"I'm going to let you get up so I can have the great pleasure of knocking you down again," Wade replied, with flushed face and animated voice.

Thompson saw the very streaks of fire as they shot from Jack Wade's eyes, and he made no effort to rise. He just looked sullenly, first at Wade, then at the girl.

"Get up, quick, you coward!" exclaimed Wade warmly.

"I'm comfortable 'nough here," replied Thompson. "If I get up ye might keep your word an' lay me out again."

Jack Wade was not fully acquainted with the mountain laws, the laws as regarded between man and man, or man and his sworn enemy. No other law counted for anything with the mountaineers. If any one of those fellows had got him in the same position, under similar circumstances, they would not have left enough of him to rise from the earth, in fact, there would not have been enough of him for