So it went back: a Lewallen killed a Stetson; that Stetson had
killed a Lewallen, until one end of the chain of deaths was lost,
and the first fault could not be placed, though each clan put it on
the other. In every generation there had been compromises-
periods of peace; why not now? Old Gabe would gladly help him.
He might make friends with young Jasper; he might even end the
feud. And then-he and Martha-why not? He closed his eyes, and
for one radiant moment t all seemed possible. And then a gaunt
image rose in the dream, and only the image was left. It was the
figure of his mother, stern and silent through the years, opening
her grim lips rarely without some curse against the Lewallen race.
He remembered she had smiled for the first time when she heard
of the new trouble-the flight of his uncle and the hope of conflict.
She had turned to him with her eyes on fire and her old hands
clinched. She had said nothing, but he understood her look. And
now-Good God! what would she think and say if she could know
what he had done? His whole frame twitched at the thought, and,
with a nervous spring to escape it, he was on his feet, and starting
down the mountain.

Close to the river he heard voices below him, and he turned his
horse quickly aside into the bushes. Two women who had been
washing clothes passed, carrying white bundles home. They were
talking of the coming feud.

"That ar young Stetson ain't much like his dad," said one. "Young
Jas has been a-darin' 'n' a-banterin' him, 'n' he won't take it up. They
say he air turnin' out a plumb coward."

When he reached the Stetson cabin three horses with drooping