"I am not your respected grandparent," said Mr. Quigg from the stove, where he was lighting the fire, "but I'll dare say he would call you just as early."

The lad laughed at himself as he sprang up and, after washing and brushing, hastened to help Mr. Quigg with his morning tasks.

He happened to glance out and noticed that their car was on a siding and that numerous other tracks contained many coaches and freight cars of different kinds. A small engine was puffing up and down among them, while on every side beyond were tall buildings and vacant lots.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Where you said you wanted to go--Columbia."

"Looks like a dirty place," commented Ralph, having had the raw edge of his curiosity sufficiently dulled at Hendersonville to make him a little critical already.

"Wait till we get out where you can see something. It's a fine town.

I made a hundred dollars in a week here once."

This sounded like a fortune to Ralph.

"You see, one of the home artists was sick and the other one on a whiz down at Charleston, and the Legislature was in session. So I just took pictures and raked in the shekels. Here comes my dray. Shove all the dishes into that chest, Ralph. We've lots to do today."

A truck driven by a negro and drawn by two mules, hitched up tandem fashion, now backed up to the open door of the car.

"h.e.l.lo Sam!" called out, Mr. Quigg. "Got my telegram, did you?"

"Yaas, suh. Ma.r.s.e Thompson, he read um."

"Now, give us a hand, Ralph," continued the artist. "We'll put the tent on first."

The lad, having bestowed the dishes, lent willing aid in loading the dray, while Mr. Quigg superintended operations.

"I guess you will have to go along with Sam," said he to Ralph. "He'll want some help at unloading. Then you must stay there and watch the things until we come with the next load."

So it was that Ralph found himself presently perched high up on the dray and rattling through the streets, while Sam sat in front, guiding his team by a single rein, and a deal of vociferation.

They came finally to a vacant corner lot where they began to unload.

"Do you know of a man here called Captain Shard?" asked the boy, at length remembering the individual he desired to find.

"Reckon I does. Bless grashus! Ain't I a wukin' fer dat same man de bigger heft er de time?"

"What kind of a man is he?"

"Fust rate; fust rate. Dat is if he don't hab nuttin' begainst yo'.

When he do, den--look out."

This rather supported the tenor of Mrs. Dopples' cautions, and Ralph paused a moment before he asked:

"Where can I find him?"

"Yo' membah dat big liv'ry stable on de Main Street as we come erlong?"

"Where there were so many wagons and carriages around?"

"Yaas, suh. Dat's him. De cap'n he own um all. Disher team 'longs ter de cap'n too. Dey some says--Hi yo! If he ain' a comin' right now! Oh, cap'n! Say yo' wanter see him, suh?"

Ralph would have declined such a sudden meeting, but before he could think of any excuse, a portly, fine looking man, with flowing chin beard and dark, piercing eyes, stopped as he was sauntering by.

"What is it, Sam?" he demanded, at the same time scanning Ralph casually.

"Dish yer white boy, he astin' where 'bout he kin find yo', suh. I up an' tol' him, when--bless de land!--yere yo' is."

Sam gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and tore away down the street without another word.

Ralph, from the divided nature of his thoughts, could think of nothing to say until the captain spoke again.

"Well, what is it you want of me--a--what is your name?"

"Ralph Granger," blurted forth the boy, then was sorry he had committed himself.

Captain Shard glanced sharply at Ralph's coa.r.s.ely clad figure, and noticed the home made texture of his clothes.

"Granger--Granger," he muttered as if to himself. "From the mountains, ain't you?" he added quickly.

Ralph was so unaccustomed to lying that he said "Yes," notwithstanding the p.r.i.c.kings occasioned by what Aunt Dopples had said.

"Who sent you to me?"

"A man by the name of Dopples, who married one of my kin folks."

"Tildy Dopples a relative of yours?" The captain appeared surprised.

Ralph, feeling that he was in for it, boldly told who and what he was, omitting any allusion to the feud, however. As he continued, the captain, who had been pondering as he listened, suddenly scowled.

"Was your father's name Ralph, too?" asked he, and when the boy nodded affirmatively, added: "And was his father's name Bras Granger?"

"Yes," replied Ralph. "I lived with him after--after----" he hesitated, conscious of speaking too frankly.

"After a Vaughn killed him!" interposed the captain with emphasis, then added: "Did you know my mother was a Vaughn, boy? And that a brother of hers was killed in a duel by a cousin of your father's?"

"So--I have--heard," faltered Ralph, feeling that he was by no means beyond the reach of that wretched feud yet.

"Finally, did you know that this brother of my mother was the man who shot your father?"

"I--never knew until Aunt Dopples told me. I call her aunt."

"Yet, knowing this, they sent you to me. I like Dopples; would do nearly anything for him I could. His wife was always rather distant.

If she is a Granger that accounts for it."

"She told me you might not like me if you knew who I was, but I--I am so sick of that useless old feud, that I thought you might not remember it against me. Down here it seems as if you have too much else to think of to be always wanting to shoot somebody."