he was a-gittin' up."

Carefully selecting a still smaller bit of dirt, she deliberately tossed
it at the figure itself. Her aim was true, and the clod struck the
man on the shoulder, with the result that he stirred uneasily, and,
muttering something which Judy could not hear, half-turned on his back
so that the girl saw the haggard, unshaven face. She saw, too, that, in
one hand, the man clutched an empty whisky bottle.

At sight of the bottle, the mountain girl rose to her feet with an
understanding laugh. "Hell!" she said aloud; "drunk,--that's all--dead
drunk. I'll sure fetch him out of hit." And then, grinning with
malicious delight, she proceeded to pelt the man in the boat with
clods of dirt until he scrambled to a sitting posture, and looked up in
bewildered confusion.

"If you please," he said, in a hoarse voice, to the sallow, old-young
face that grinned down at him from the top of the bank, "which one of
the Devil's imps are you?"

As she looked into that upturned face, Judy's grin vanished. "I sure
'lowed as how you-all was dead," she explained.

"Well," returned the man in the boat, wearily, "I can assure you that
it's not in the least my fault if I disappoint you. I feel as bad about
it as you do. However, I don't think I am so much alive that it makes
any material difference." He lifted the whisky bottle, and studied it
thoughtfully.

"You-all come dad burned near not bein' ary bit alive," returned the