Suddenly a wild hoot of derision rent the air; the echoes answered,
and all the ravine was filled with the jeering clamor.

"The wust luck in the worl'!" plained poor Rufe, as the ill-omened
cry rose again and again. "'Tain't goin' ter s'prise me none now,
ef I gits my neck bruk along o' this resky foolishness in this
cur'ous place whar owELS watch from the lookout ez dead men hev
lef'."

He came down unhurt, however. Then he sidled about a great many
times through "the laurel," for he could not muster courage for a
direct approach to the strange object he had descried. The owl
still watched him, and bobbed its head and hooted after him. When
he drew near the lightning-scathed tree, he paused rooted to the
spot, gazing in astonishment, his hat on the back of his tow head,
his eyes opened wide, one finger inserted in his mouth in silent
deprecation.

For there stood a man dressed in black, and with a dark straw hat on
his head. He had gray whiskers, and gleaming spectacles of a mildly
surprised expression. He smiled kindly when he saw Rufe.
Incongruously enough, he had a hammer in his hand. He was going
down the ravine, tapping the rocks with it. And Rufe thought he
looked for all the world like some over-grown, demented woodpecker.



CHAPTER IV.

As Rufe still stood staring, the old gentleman held out his hand