“Go by that path, thar,” said Lorey, suddenly, and pointing, as Holton started to return by the direct route he had followed as he came.  “It air round-about, but it’ll lead you to th’ valley.  I’ll run no risk o’ your warnin’ him.”

“Don’t you be skeered,” said Holton.  “I’ll keep mum, no matter what happens.”

With a grim smile he started down the path which the mountaineer had pointed out.

“Laid his whip acrost my face!” he muttered as he went.  “Trifled with my gal!  Him an’ Ben Lorey’s son—­let ’em fight it out!  I’m so much th’ better off.”

And Lorey, slipping back into the shadow of a rock, after he had made quite certain that the stranger was following his directions, was reflecting, bitterly:  “He’s come atween me an’ th’ gal I love!  He’s put th’ revenoo hounds upon my track!  Oh, if he had a dozen lives, I’d have ’em all!”

For ten alert and watchful minutes, which seemed to stretch to hours, he crouched there, waiting, waiting, waiting, for the coming of the man he hated.  During five of these he listened to the sounds of Holton’s downward progress, brought to his keen ear on the soft breezes of the young night.  There came the crackling of a twig, the thud, thud, thud of a dislodged stone bounding down the slope, the rustle of leaves as the old man shuffled through a pocket of them gathered in the lea of some protruding rock by vagrant winds.  Then all was still.  He did not guess that Holton had been anxious that these sounds should reach him; that he had stumbled down the trail with awkward feet with no thought in his mind but to be certain that the sounds should reach him.  Such was the case, however, and, after he felt sure that the crouching mountaineer above must be convinced that he had gone on to the valley, the old man turned, catlike, re-ascended with a skill as great as Lorey’s own, and, with not a sound to warn the mountaineer that he had retraced any of his steps, took cautious place behind a rock upon the very edge of the open space where, when Layson came, he felt quite sure a tragedy would be enacted.

Then Layson came blithely up the trail.  He had gone through the engineer’s report with care.  The coal prospects included the girl’s land.  He was full of rare elation at thought of the good luck which had descended on the little mountain-maid, full of pleasant plans for a bright future from none of which she was omitted.

His dreams were rudely interrupted as Joe Lorey stepped ominously from behind the rock where he had waited for him.

“Hold up your hands!” the mountaineer commanded, with his rifle levelled at the advancing youth.

“Joe Lorey!” exclaimed Layson.

“You know what air between us.  Your time air come.  If you want to pray, do it quick, for my finger air itchin’ to pull th’ trigger.”

Layson’s blood and breeding told, in this emergency.  He did not flinch a whit.  “I’m ready,” he said calmly.  “I’m not afraid to die, though it’s hard to meet death at the hands of a coward.”