week--raisin' hell. He comes by here on
his way home.'' The Blight's eyes opened
wide--apparently we were on his trail.
It is not wise for a member of the police
guard at the Gap to show too much
curiosity about the lawless ones of the
hills, and I asked no questions.

``They calls him the Wild Dog over
here,'' he added, and then he yawned
cavernously.

I looked around with divining eye for
the sleeping arrangements soon to come,
which sometimes are embarrassing to
``furriners'' who are unable to grasp at
once the primitive unconsciousness of the
mountaineers and, in consequence, accept a
point of view natural to them because
enforced by architectural limitations and a
hospitality that turns no one seeking
shelter from any door. They were, however,
better prepared than I had hoped for.
They had a spare room on the porch and
just outside the door, and when the old
woman led the two girls to it, I followed
with their saddle-bags. The room was
about seven feet by six and was windowless.

``You'd better leave your door open a