for hostilities and, though the news of the patched-up peace had
spread, it was plain that the factions were still suspicious and
on guard. Then the loneliness almost of Lonesome Cove itself set
in. For miles he saw nothing alive but an occasional bird and
heard no sound but of running water or rustling leaf. At the mouth
of the creek his horse's lameness had grown so much better that he
mounted him and rode slowly up the river. Within an hour he could
see the still crest of the Lonesome Pine. At the mouth of a creek
a mile farther on was an old gristmill with its water-wheel
asleep, and whittling at the door outside was the old miller,
Uncle Billy Beams, who, when he heard the coming of the black
horse's feet, looked up and showed no surprise at all when he saw
Hale.

"I heard you was comin'," he shouted, hailing him cheerily by
name. "Ain't fishin' this time!"

"No," said Hale, "not this time."

"Well, git down and rest a spell. June'll be here in a minute an'
you can ride back with her. I reckon you air goin' that a-way."

"June!"

"Shore! My, but she'll be glad to see ye! She's always talkin'
about ye. You told her you was comin' back an' ever'body told her
you wasn't: but that leetle gal al'ays said she KNOWED you was,
because you SAID you was. She's growed some--an' if she ain't
purty, well I'd tell a man! You jes' tie yo' hoss up thar behind
the mill so she can't see it, an' git inside the mill when she