Once he heard something move below him and then the
crackling of brush sounded far to one side of the road. He knew it
was a man who would be watching him from a covert and,
straightway, to prove his innocence of any hostile or secret
purpose, he began to whistle. Farther below, two men with
Winchesters rose from the bushes and asked his name and his
business. He told both readily. Everybody, it seemed, was prepared
for hostilities and, though the news of the patched-up peace had
spread, it was plain that the factions were still suspicious and
on guard. Then the loneliness almost of Lonesome Cove itself set
in. For miles he saw nothing alive but an occasional bird and
heard no sound but of running water or rustling leaf. At the mouth
of the creek his horse's lameness had grown so much better that he
mounted him and rode slowly up the river. Within an hour he could
see the still crest of the Lonesome Pine. At the mouth of a creek
a mile farther on was an old gristmill with its water-wheel
asleep, and whittling at the door outside was the old miller,
Uncle Billy Beams, who, when he heard the coming of the black
horse's feet, looked up and showed no surprise at all when he saw
Hale.
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