tiny stream that trickled from a fissure at the base of the cliff.

Who air that feller, Easter? " the mother asked, in a low voice,
when Clayton was out of hearing.

"One o' them furriners who hev come into Injun Creek," was the
indifferent reply.

That's splendid water," said Clayton, returning. "May I give you
some?" The old woman shook her head. Easter's eyes were still on
the mountains, and apparently she had not heard him.

"Hit air good water," said the mother.
"That spring never does go dry. You better come in and rest a
spell. I suppose ye air from the mines?" she added, as she turned to
resume spinning.

Yes," answered Clayton. "There is good hunting around here, isn't
there? " he went on, feeling that some explanation was due for his
sudden arrival away up in that lone spot.

There was no answer. Easter did not look toward him, and the
spinning stopped.

"Whut d'you say?" asked the old woman.

Clayton repeated his question.

"Thar used to be prime huntin' in these parts when my dad cleared
off this spot more'n fifty year ago, but the varmints hev mostly