Clear of the village, the horses turned and began to mount the hill
which led to Gallito's isolated cabin. Their progress was necessarily
slow, for the road was rough and full of deep ruts. The velvety
blackness of a mountain night was all about them and even the late
spring air seemed icy cold. Pearl had begun to shiver in spite of her
wraps when the light from a cabin window gleamed across the road and the
driver pulled up his horses.

"Somebody's waiting for you," said the driver.

"Yes, Saint Harry," answered Gallito. "He's getting supper for us."

The door, however, was not opened for them and it was not until the
driver had turned his horses down the hill that they heard a bolt
withdrawn. Then Gallito pushed in and Pearl followed, stepping wearily
across the threshold.

The room, a large one for a mountain cabin, was warm and clean; some
logs burned brightly on the hearth; a table set for supper was placed
within the radius of that glow and a man was bending over a stove at one
side of the fireplace, while two women, who had evidently been seated on
the other side of the fire, rose and stood smiling a welcome. The air
was full of appetizing odors mingled with the fragrance of coffee.

As they entered the man turned with a quick movement. He was an
odd-looking creature, brown as a nut, with glinting, changing, glancing
eyes which can see what seem to be immeasurable distances to those
possessed of ordinary sight. He had a curiously crooked face, one eye
was higher than the other and his nose was not in the middle, but set on
one side; its sharp, inquisitive point almost at right angles with the