farthest outlying wagon.

"I ain't hidin'," was the half-defiant answer.

"You're a liar," said Thomas Jefferson coolly, ducking skilfully to
escape the consequences.

But there were no consequences. Young Pendry's heavy face flushed a dull
red,--that could be seen even in the growing dusk,--but he made no move
retaliatory. Thomas Jefferson walked slowly around him, wary as a wild
creature of the wood, and to the full as curious. Then he stuck out his
hand awkwardly.

"I only meant it 'over the left,' Scrap, hope to die," he said. "I
allowed I'd just like to know for sure if what you done last night made
any difference."

Scrap was silent, glibness of tongue not being among the gifts of the
East Tennessee landward bred. But he grasped the out-thrust hand
heartily and crushed it forgivingly.

"Come on out where the folks are," urged Thomas Jefferson. "Sim Cantrell
and the other fellows are allowin' you're afeard."

"I ain't afeard," denied the convert.

"No; but you're sort o' 'shamed, and that's about the same thing, I
reckon. Come on out; I'll go 'long with you."

Then spake the new-born love in the heart of the big, rough, country