'n' I don't want to kill ye anyways ef I kin he'p it. Seem s'prised
ag'in. Reckon ye don't believe me? I don't wonder when I think o'
my own dad, 'n' all the meanness yo folks have done mine; but I've
got a good reason fer not killin' ye-ef I kin he'p it. Y'u don't know
what it is, 'n' y'u'll never know; but I'll give yer a chance now fer
yer life ef y'u'll sw'ar on a stack o' Bibles as high as that tree thar
that y'u'll leave these mount'ins ef I whoops ye, 'n' nuver come back
ag'in as long as you live. I'll leave, ef ye whoops me. Now whut do
ye say? Will ye sw'ar?

"I reckon I will, seem' as I've got to," was the surly answer. But
Jasper's face was dark with suspicion, and Rome studied it keenly.
The Lewallens once had been men whose word was good, but he
did not like Jasper's look.

"I reckon I'll trust ye," he said, at last, more through confidence in
his own strength than faith in his enemy; foi Jasper whipped would
be as much at his mercy as he was now. So Rome threw off his
coat, and began winding his homespun suspenders about his waist.
Watching him closely, Jasper did the same.

The firing below had ceased. A flock of mountain vultures were
sailing in great circles over the thick woods. Two eagles swept
straight from the rim of the sun above Wolf's Head, beating over a
turbulent sea of mist for the cliffs, scarcely fifty yards above the
ledge, where a pine-tree grew between two rocks. At the instant of
lighting, they wheeled away, each with a warning scream to the
other. A figure lying flat behind the pine had frightened them, and
now a face peeped to one side, flushed with eagerness over the
coming fight. Both were ready now, and the Lewallen grew