“I don’t believe it of Joe Lorey,” Layson answered earnestly.  “We fought, and he fought fair.”

After they had gone, Joe crept out from his hiding place among the shrubbery and looked after them with puzzled, pain-filled eyes, like a great animal’s.

“If they’d only knowed that I war standin’ in th’ shadder there!” he mused.  “If he hadn’t spoke them words I’d pulled th’ trigger, but he spoke up like as ef ‘t war true an’ I jest couldn’t do it.”

A cautious footstep on the close-knit sward, which would have been inaudible to any ear less keen than his, attracted his attention, suddenly, and he slipped back to his leafy hiding-place.  Peering from the covert he saw Holton coming.  The man was furtive, apprehensive in his every movement, suspicion breeding.  When Joe stepped out from his thicket boldly, to confront him, the ex-slave-dealer fell back, frightened.

“Hello, sir,” was Joe’s laconic greeting.

“Joe Lorey!” exclaimed Holton.

“That’s me,” Joe boldly granted.  He peered at him so closely that Holton shrank away from him, involuntarily.  “And you—­why you’re the man as gin th’ word that Frank Layson had warned th’ revenooers of my still.”

“I told ye for yer good,” said Holton, clearly recognizing that his position was unfortunate.  “An’ recollect you promised not to tell anyone my name.”

Joe nodded gravely.  “While I believe ye told th’ truth I’ll keep my word,” he answered.  “But I wants to tell you that I heered Frank Layson deny it, hyar, to-night, an’ it sounded like he war speakin’ th’ plain truth.  See hyar, sir, you nearly egged me on to doin’ murder.”  He reached forward and seized Holton by the shoulder roughly, with a grasp so powerful that the old man, though he was of sturdy frame and mighty muscle, knew that he was helpless in the grip.  “Now look me in th’ face.  Tell me as you vally your own life—­war it truth or lies, you told me?”

“It war th’ truth,” said Holton, doggedly; “th’ truth an’ nothin’ else.”

Joe shook his head incredulously.  “I’d like better proof nor your word, stranger, for, some way, your voice it don’t ring true, nor yer eye look honest.”

“I’ll gin ye th’ proof,” said Holton desperately.  “Ye know that I war never near yer still.  Layson told me it war in th’ wall of a ravine—­Hangin’ Rock Ravine—­an’ a big oak stood in front of it an’ hid the mouth o’ th’ cave.  Thar, do ye believe me, now?”

Joe nodded, slowly, thoughtfully.  “No man as lived up in th’ mountings would have told ye.”  He considered ponderously for a moment.  “Yes, I reckon that I’ll have to take yer word.  ’T was him as done it.”

“Of course it war,” said Holton, and then, perhaps, a bit too eagerly:  “an’ you’ll make him pay for it?”

“Yes,” said Joe, “but I’ve another score to settle, first, another man to find—­Lem Lindsay.”

Holton was plainly startled, although Joe could not guess just why he should be.  “Lem Lindsay!” he exclaimed.