by the Laurel Branch this mornin'? Haven't the Vaughns and the
Grangers been at outs for more than twenty year? What more d'ye want?"

The boy frowned, but it was in perplexity rather than wrath.

They came at last to a wooded hollow, through which another creek ran,
thickly shaded by thick overhanging shrubbery. The old man led the way
to a half decayed log of immense size, that lay behind a thick fringe
of bushes, at an angle just beyond where the road crossed the creek.

It was a deadly spot for an ambuscade.

"Lay down behind that log," said old Granger. "Now, can you draw a
good bead on him when he comes in sight?"

Young Granger squinted along the rifle barrel, now resting across the
log. Though apparently concealed himself, he had a fair view of the
road for sixty yards in both directions. Where it entered the brook it
was barely thirty feet away.

"Take him right forninst the left shoulder, 'bout the time his mule
crosses the creek; then your poor father'll rest easy in his grave."

"Why ain't you killed him afore?" demanded Ralph.

"My hand hasn't been steady these nine year; not since them Vaughns
burned our house down the night your grandmother died. It was cold and
snowin', and bein' out in it was more'n she could stand."

"I remember," said the boy gloomily. "But that was a long time ago. I