"Why not?"

"Well, if a man hain't up to some devilment, what reason's he got
fer not tellin' his name?"

"That's his business."

"Tain't over hyeh. Hit's mine. Ef a man don't want to tell his
name over hyeh, he's a spy or a raider or a officer looking fer
somebody or," he added carelessly, but with a quick covert look at
his visitor--"he's got some kind o' business that he don't want
nobody to know about."

"Well, I came over here--just to--well, I hardly know why I did
come."

"Jess so," said the old man dryly. "An' if ye ain't looking fer
trouble, you'd better tell your name in these mountains, whenever
you're axed. Ef enough people air backin' a custom anywhar hit
goes, don't hit?"

His logic was good--and Hale said nothing. Presently the old man
rose with a smile on his face that looked cynical, picked up a
black lump and threw it into the fire. It caught fire, crackled,
blazed, almost oozed with oil, and Hale leaned forward and leaned
back.

"Pretty good coal!"

"Hain't it, though?" The old man picked up a sliver that had flown