IV


BACK at the mill old Gabe was troubled. Usually he sat in a
cane-bottomed chair near the hopper, whittling, while the lad
tended the mill, and took pay in an oaken toll-dish smooth with the
use of half a century. But the incident across the river that morning
had made the old man uneasy, and he moved restlessly from his
chair to the door, and back again, while the boy watched him,
wondering what the matter was, but asking no questions. At noon
an old mountaineer rode by, and the miller hailed him.

"Any news in town?" he asked.

"Hain't been to town. Reckon fightin' 's goin' on thar from whut I
heerd." The careless, high-pitched answer brought the boy with
wide eyes to the door.

Whut d'ye hear? " asked Gabe. Jes heerd fightin' 's goin' on!

Then every man who came for his meal brought a wild rumor from
town, and the old miller moved his chair to the door, and sat there
whittling fast, and looking anxiously toward Hazlan. The boy was
in a fever of unrest, and old Gabe could hardly keep him in the
mill. In the middle of the afternoon the report of a rifle came
down the river, breaking into echoes against the cliffs below, and
Isom ran out the door, and stood listening for another, with an odd
contradiction of fear and delight on his eager face. In a few
moments Rome Stetson galloped into sight, and, with a shrill cry
of relief, the boy ran down the road to meet him, and ran back,