“You know well enough,” he answered.  “Who would I mean but that damn’ furriner, Frank Layson?  He warn’t satisfied with comin’ here an’ stealin’ you away from me!  He had to put th’ revenuers on th’ track o’ th’ old still that was my dad’s afore me, an’ has been th’ one thing, siden you, I’ve ever keered fer in my life.”

“You’re wrong, Joe,” she insisted.  “You’re shore wrong.  Frank Layson’d never do a coward’s trick like that!”

“He done it!” Lorey answered doggedly.  “He done it, an’ as there is a God in Heaven he air goin’ to pay th’ price fer doin’ it!”

With that he stalked off down the trail, his rifle held as ever in the crook of his elbow, his brows as black as human brows could be.

For a time she sat there on a rock, gazing after him, half-stupefied, with eyes wide, terror-stricken.  What could a mere girl do to avert the dreadful tragedy impending?  Tireless as he was, she knew that he could keep upon the trail for twenty-four hours without a pause, and that such travelling, with the lifts which he would get from mountain teamsters, would take him to the home of the man whose life he had determined to snuff out at any hazard.  Beside herself with fright for Frank, she sped back to her cabin, took what food was ready-cooked and could be bundled up to carry on the journey, put on her heaviest shoes and started for the door.  But, suddenly, the thought flashed through her mind that, even as Joe Lorey was bound down the trails to meet his rival, so would she be bound down them to meet her own.  She could not bear the thought of facing Barbara Holton, clad, as she was now, in rough, half-shapeless, mountain-homespun.  She made another bundle, larger than the one which held her food, by many times, and, when she finally set off, this bundle held the finery which she had so laboriously prepared in the mad hope of rivaling the work of the bluegrass belle’s accomplished city dressmakers.

Down in the bluegrass home of the ancient Layson family all was excitement in anticipation of the race which was to mean so much to the fortunes of the young master of the fine old mansion which, with pillared porticos and mighty chimneys, dominated the whole section.  Layson’s heart was filled with confidence whenever he went to the stables to view the really startling beauty of the lovely animal on which his hope was pinned; it sunk into despair, when, seated in his study in the house, away from her, he counted up the cost of all which he would lose if she did not run first in the great race.

None but the Colonel, Miss Alathea and himself had an idea of the real magnitude of the stakes dependant on Queen Bess.  Upon the glossy shoulders of the lovely mare rested, indeed, a great burden of responsibility.  If she won she would not only secure the large purse for the owner, but be salable for a price which would enable him to take advantage, fully, of the offer which the syndicate had made to develop his coal lands.  If she failed—­well, the fortunes of the house of Layson would be seriously shattered.