astounded the humble mountaineers.

For more than two years, Orlick had been determined to possess himself of Belle-Ann Benson. But he resolved first to free himself of Lem Lutts.

He had noted of late the subtle little courtesies exchanged between Belle-Ann and Lem, and he knew that they had arrived at the realization that they were not brother and sister. Was it not reasonable to conclude that, in view of the girl's beauty, it was only a matter of time before Lem would take Belle-Ann for his own?

The mere thought stirred Orlick's hot blood to a fury, as with a scowl he fixed his eyes upon the figure leading the downward trail and he was seized with a mad impulse to shoot Lem in the back.

His hand crept downward. The cool contact of steel in his holster woke him to his folly and he trailed along, curbing his impatience, resolved to follow to the letter the plan he had worked out to get Belle-Ann out of the mountains and away, or bring ruin down on the whole Lutts family.

When Lem Lutts returned to the cabin an hour later, with a large, tired man and a fagged-out horse, Orlick was not with them.

Old Lutts was pacing to and fro in the moonlight. He was occupied mainly with thoughts of his new church and the dedication on Sunday.

The stranger below was to him a matter of secondary concern. He had been a hunted man all his life. Therefore, there was neither novelty nor consternation in the reflection.

The old man stalked up to the horse-block and greeted the stranger.

"Howdy? Sort o' warmish t'-night. Whut mought be yo'-all's business seein' me?"

"This is Mr. Lutts, I take it?" ventured the newcomer.

"Thes air ol' Cap Lutts, o' Moon mountain," corrected the old man in a precise tone.

"Yes, certainly," continued the man hastily. "Well, captain, I'm a deputy sheriff. I was despatched to see you and deliver a message from the sheriff."

Here he revealed his shield, then unbuckled his belt, containing a pair of pistols, and hung them over the saddle-tree.

"And, captain," he pursued wearily but genially, "I'm dog tired. I've been five hours coming up the last five miles. Can I talk with you a bit, captain?"

The old man, who had listened intently, spoke up now, and there was a touch of sarcasm in his drawl.

"Yo' air a new deputy, I 'low—hain't yo', sheriff?"

"You are right. I was appointed two weeks ago, and I'll get even with somebody for sending me on this Godless trail—I smell some spite somewhere."

"Wal, set down heah, sheriff, an' perceed," invited Lutts, with a generous gesture toward the bench.

"I can state my position and my errand, captain, in very few words," began the new deputy, who had plainly lost a measure of his official zeal along the almost impassable trail, and now appeared disgruntled.

"The sheriff, the district attorney, and the collector of this district have gotten together and have drafted an ultimatum and I was chosen to deliver it to you and get your answer. They propose to quash all the various indictments now against you for illicit distilling and for shootings alleged through warrants by some of the McGill faction."

"Both the Commonwealth, the civil and Federal authorities stand as a unit to clear the dockets of these charges, providing that you come down and sign an agreement to cease all further operations pertaining to feud wars and the illicit distilling of liquor and turn over all your present distilling property to the government. That's it in a nutshell. I just want your answer—yes or no, captain—and my work is done."

The sheriff looked up into the inscrutable face for answer. The old man smiled good-humoredly and tossed his long hair backward.

"I air all-fired sorry, sheriff," he responded calmly, "thet yo'-all hit heah so late. I want t' show yo' th' gawspel-house. I built hit all myself—every dang lick an' cut, sheriff; an' I air a givin' hit t' Kaintucky, pertic'lar these parts whar hit's needed bad like. Lem, tote thes hoss back an' rub em an' fresh em an' fill em an' stir thet Slab roun'. Tell em t' step like a catamount an' hash up a hot snack fo' th' sheriff. Pull a yaller young pullet offen the south limb o' th' burnt cedar over yon. An', Lem-boy, yo'-all tell Belle-Ann t' jog thet Slab up a pinch. Sheriff, yo' hain't a goin' 'way from heah, leastways till mornin'.

"Ez I wus a sayin', sheriff, we-uns air bin a needin' a gawspel-house hyarbouts fo' a hundred yeers—now hit's arriv'. Thar's some powerful pesky folks hyarbouts, sheriff," with a deprecating gesture towards Southpaw.

"Th' McGills mought hev j'ined in ef they'd ac'ed right. Maw wus fo' peace—Maw Lutts wus—Maw alers hankered fo' peace. She air up yon in th' groun' now. Thet damn ghost-man, Burton, kilt her!"

Lutts turned his face quickly away and was silent. A huge hand slid coaxingly over the gleaming surface of the rifle-barrel between his legs.

"Sheriff, hit hain't thes rifle-gun's fault—hit hain't my eye ner my hand, I'll swear. Sheriff, I've hit thet damn ghost-revenuer ez many times ez yo' see rocks at yore feet thar. He air holler inside, sheriff.

"Yo' know outside shoots hain't a hurtin' nobuddy—hit's when th' bullets gits down in a buddy's in'ards an' gits tangled up with his insides thet counts. Thet revenuer hain't got no insides. He air holler, sheriff."

The old man paused in silence, his auditor pondering the manner of man before him.

"Ez I wus a sayin', sheriff, th' McGills mought 'a' j'ined my gawspel-house ef they had ac'ed half right. One Sabbath mornin', 'fore I built th' gawspel-house, I follered Maw Lutts down t' th' brink of Hellsfork, Maw a totin' a truce-flag.

"I hollers across t' ol' Sap McGill; an' I says, 'Sap McGill,' I says—'seein' thet we-all air even up now on th' killin', ef yo'-all lays down I lays down.' An' Maw Lutts up an' hollers across, too, an' says: 'Sap McGill, ef yo'-all lays down yo' kin jine th' gawspel-house pap 'lows t' built on Hellsfork, an' we-uns 'll all have our sins wyshed away an' stop a fightin'.'

"Sheriff, ol' Sap, he hollers back, quick like, an' onery ez a varmint, an' says: 'To hell with yore gawspel-house on Hellsfork! Hyars yo' answer.' An' he shot me twice 'fore I could believe he wus so low-down onery an' pesky as to do hit, an' Maw a holdin' up th' truce-flag! So I had t' kill em."

The old man's eyes swept the moonlit distance that embraced the church as he went on.

"I 'low we-uns 'll show yo' th' gawspel-house early in th' mornin', sheriff. Ef yo' don't 'low t' go I'll pick yo' up in my arms an' tote yo' down thar. Yo' got t' see hit. Thar hain't no purttier gawspel-house down Blue-grass."

Belle-Ann stood before them.

"I 'low yo'-all kin be comin' along now, pap, 'fore th' snack gits cold," she said shyly in her low, sweet drawl.

As the men rose the sheriff caught himself ogling. Following the gliding, moccasined feet, he noted the grace and loveliness of her lithe, round form. He assured himself that he had never beheld such artless, unusual, natural beauty in a girl.

And he pondered soberly upon a lineage of blue blood manifest in her face, her form, her voice, and manner.

A restless murmur rippled through the cool cedars where the birds had gone to sleep. Cautiously a small shape with wizened face slid from out the mystic shadows, lugging a rifle twice his length. Even for his eleven years, Buddy Lutts was undersized.

His body was thin and small. His reasoning was little. But his heart was big with hate for that devil-thing, the law. He vanished as noiselessly and furtively as he had come. Little Bud had overheard every word the sheriff had uttered.

CHAPTER IV

AN ULTIMATUM

A veil of azure morning mist lingered at the apex of Henhawk's knob. A young eagle—aggressively bold in his youth—sallied forth into the mystic dawn, setting himself high on Eagle Crown rock, and surveyed the dim