save your neck; 'n' he can't no way, fer he hev lit out o' these
mount'ins-long ago."

If Steve was out of danger, suspicion could not harm him, and
Rome said nothing.

"Isom's got the lingerin' fever ag'in, 'n' he's out"i his head. He's
ravin' 'bout that fight. Looks like ye tol' him 'bout it. He says,' Don't
tell Uncle Gabe'; 'n' he keeps sayin' it. Hit'll 'most kill him ef you
go 'way; but he wants ye to git out o' the mount'ins; 'n', Rome,
you've got to go."

"Who was it, Uncle Gabe, that seed me 'n' Steve comm' 'way from
thar?

He air the same feller who hev been spyin' ye all the time this war's
been goin' on; hit's that dried-faced, snaky Eli Crump, who ye
knocked down 'n' choked up in Hazlan one day fer sayin'
something ag'in Isom."

"I knowed it-I knowed it-oh, ef I could git my fingers roun' his
throat once more-jes once more-I'd be 'mos' ready to die."

He stretched out his hands as he strode back and forth, with his
fingers crooked like talons; his shadow leaped from wall to wall,
and his voice, filling the cave, was, for the moment, scarcely
human. The old man waited till the paroxysm was over and Rome
had again sunk before the fire.

"Hit 'u'd do no good, Rome," he said, rising to go. "You've got