“The elder one is of the old-time Southern aristocracy,” he said.  “The younger one is one of the newcomers—­her father has made money and she is breaking in by means of it.”

His companion nodded, realizing that the guess was shrewd and justified, even if it might, conceivably, be inaccurate.

“She certainly is very striking,” he said, nodding, “but the elder one is the aristocrat.”

The other member of the party was a big man, nearing fifty, with a broad face on which geniality was written in its every line, wearing the wide-brimmed Southern hat, typical long frock-coat with flaring skirts, black trousers, somewhat pegged, and boots of an immaculate brilliance.

His voice was loud, hearty and attractive, as he made inquiries, here and there, about the young man whom they had hoped to find in waiting for them at the station, although they had arrived, owing to the exigencies of travel by a new road, not yet officially opened to traffic, a day before they had expected to.

“I suh,” said this gentleman, “am Cunnel Doolittle—­Cunnel Sandusky Doolittle, and am looking for this lady’s nephew, Mr. Layson, suh.  If you can tell me where the youngster is likely to be runnin’, now, you will put me under obligations, suh.”

None, however, knew just how Layson could be reached.  Most of them knew him or had heard of him, but they were not certain just where his camp in the mountains was located.

“I regret, Miss ’Lethe,” said the Colonel, turning to the disappointed lady at his side, after having completed his inquiries, “that there is no good hotel heah.  If there were a good hotel heah, I would take you to it, ma’am, and make you comfortable.  Then, ma’am, I would search this country and I’d find him in short order.  He probably did not receive my letter saying that we would arrive to-day and not to-morrow.”

One of the engineers proffered to the ladies the use of his own canvas quarters till some course of action should have been decided on, an offer which was gratefully accepted.

Soon afterward inquiries by the Colonel brought out definite information as to the exact location of Frank’s camp.  A railway teamster, also, it appeared, was starting in that direction after ties and offered to transport a messenger as far as he was going, directing him, then, so that he could not lose his way.  Old Neb, the darky, thereupon, was started on the search.

He was a different sort of negro from any which the mountain folk had ever seen, and wore more airs than his “white folks.”  Dressed in a black frock-coat as ornate as the Colonel’s, although its bagging shoulders showed that it had been a gift and not made for him, his hat was a silk tile, a bit too large, and in one hand was a gold-headed cane on which he leaned as his old legs limped under him.  Among the mountaineers about he was an object of the keenest curiosity, although down in the bluegrass,