"Yes 'tis," he said, shaking his head affirmatively.

A long cry came down the ravine:

"J-u-n-e! eh--oh--J-u-n-e!" That was a queer name for the
mountains, and the fisherman wondered if he had heard aright--
June.

The little girl gave a shrill answering cry, but she did not move.

"Thar now!" she said.

"Who's that--your Mammy?"

"No, 'tain't--hit's my step-mammy. I'm a goin' to ketch hell now."
Her innocent eyes turned sullen and her baby mouth tightened.

"Good Lord!" said the fisherman, startled, and then he stopped--
the words were as innocent on her lips as a benediction.

"Have you got a father?" Like a flash, her whole face changed.

"I reckon I have."

"Where is he?"

"Hyeh he is!" drawled a voice from the bushes, and it had a tone
that made the fisherman whirl suddenly. A giant mountaineer stood
on the bank above him, with a Winchester in the hollow of his arm.