One thing puzzled him. Of Sim Colby he had thought as a somewhat solitary character, whose relations with his neighbors, though amicable, were yet rather detached. He had seemed to have few intimates, yet if he had led this attack, he was palpably able to muster at his back a considerable force of men for a desperate project. That meant that the infection of hatred against himself had spread from a single enmity to the number, at least, of the men who had joined in the battle, and it had been a battle in which more than one had fallen. Before, he had recognized a single enemy. Henceforth he must acknowledge plural enmities.

And along that line of reasoning the next step followed logically.

Who would suggest himself as so natural a leader for a murder enterprise as Sam Mosebury, whose record was established in such matters? Certainly if this suspicion were well-founded it would be safest to know.

Spurrier, despite all he had heard of Sam Mosebury, was reluctant to entertain the thought. The man might be, as Cappeze painted him, the head and front of an infamously vicious system, yet there was something engaging and likable about him, which made it hard to believe that for hire or any motive not nearly personal he would have conspired to do murder.

So among the many claims upon Spurrier's attention was the effort to find out where Sam Mosebury stood, and it was while he was thinking of that problem that he encountered the object of his thoughts in person. The spot was one distant from his own house. Indeed it was near Colby's cabin--still apparently empty--that the meeting took place.

The opportunity hound had made several trips over there of late, because he required to know something of Colby's activities, and, of course, when he came he observed a surrept.i.tious caution which sought to guard against any hint leaking through to Colby of his own surveillance. He firmly believed that Sim was "hiding out," and that despite the seeming emptiness of his habitation he was not far away.

So it was Spurrier, the law-abiding man, who was skulking in the laurel while the notorious Mosebury walked the highway "upstanding"

and openly--and the man in the thicket stooped low to escape discovery. But his foot slipped in the tangle and a rotting branch cracked under it, giving out a sound which brought Mosebury to an abrupt halt with his head warily raised and his rifle poised. He, too, had enemies and must walk in caution.

There had been times when Sam's life had hinged on just such trivial things as the snapping of a twig, and now, peering through the thickets Spurrier saw a flinty hardness come into his eyes.

Sam stepped quietly but swiftly to the roadside and sheltered himself behind a rock. He said no word, but he waited, and Spurrier could feel that his eyes were boring into his own place of concealment with a scrutiny that went over it studiously and keenly, foot by foot.

He hurriedly considered what plan to pursue. If Mosebury was in league with Colby, to show himself would be almost as undesirable a thing as to show himself to Colby direct. Yet if he stayed there with the guilty seeming of one in hiding, Mosebury would end by locating him--and might a.s.sume that the hiding was itself a proof of enmity. He decided to declare himself so he shouted boldly: "It's John Spurrier,"

and rose a moment later into view.

Then he came forward, thinking fast, and when the two met in the road, mendaciously said:

"I guess it looks queer for a man with a clear conscience to take to the timber that way, Mr. Mosebury--but you may remember that I was recently attacked, and I don't know who did it."

Mosebury nodded. "I'd be ther last man ter fault ye fer thet," he concurred. "I was doin' nigh erbout ther same thing myself, but I didn't know ye often fared over this way, Mr. Spurrier."

"No, it's off my beat." Spurrier was now lying fluently in what he fancied was to be a game of wits with a man who might have led the siege upon his house. "I was just going over to Stamp Carter's place.

He wanted me to advise him about a property deal."

For a s.p.a.ce Sam stood gravely thoughtful, and when he spoke his words astonished the other.

"Seein' we _hev_ met up, accidental-like, I've got hit in head ter tell ye somethin' deespite hit ain't rightly none of my business."

Again he paused, and it was plain that he was laboring under embarra.s.sment, so Spurrier inquired:

"What is it?"

"Of course, I've done heered ther talk erbout yore bein' attacked.

Don't ye really suspicion no special man?"

"Suspicion is one thing, Mr. Mosebury, and knowledge is another."

"Yes, thet's Bible truth, an' yit I wouldn't marvel none yore suspicions went over thet-away--an' came up not fur off from hyar." He nodded his head toward Sim Colby's house, and Spurrier, who was steeled to fence, gave no indication of astonishment. He only inquired:

"Why should Mr. Colby hold a grudge against me?"

"I ain't got no power of knowin' thet." Mosebury spoke dryly. "An' es I said afore, hit ain't none of my business nohow--still I does know thet ye've been over hyar some sev'ral times, an' every time ye came, ye came quietlike es ef ye sought ter see Sim afore Sim seed _you_."

"You think I've been here before?"

"No, sir, I don't think hit. I knows. .h.i.t. I seed ye."

"Saw me!"

"Yes, sir, seed ye. Hit's my business to keep a peeled eye in my face."

So Spurrier's careful secrecy had been transparent after all, and if this man was an ally of Colby's, Colby already shared his knowledge.

More than ever Spurrier felt sure that his suspicions of the man whose eyes had changed color, were grounded in truth.

"Howsomever," went on Mosebury quietly, "I ain't nuver drapped no hint ter Sim erbout hit. I ain't, gin'rally speakin', no meddler, but ef so be I kin forewarn ye ergainst harm, hit would pleasure me ter do hit."

There was a cordial ring of sincerity in the manner and voice, which it was hard to doubt, so the other said gravely:

"Thank you. I did suspect Colby, but I have no proof."

"I don't know whether Sim grudges ye or not," continued Mosebury. "He ain't nuver named ther matter ter me nowise, guise, ner fashion--but Sim _wasn't with ther crowd thet went atter ye_. He didn't even know nothin' erbout hit. Sometimes a man comes to grief by barkin' up ther wrong tree."

Again suspicion came to the front. This savored strongly of an attempt to alibi a confederate, and Spurrier inquired bluntly:

"Since you broached this subject, I think it's fair to ask you another question. You tell me who _didn't_ come. Do you know who _did_?"

For a moment Mosebury's face remained blank, then he spoke stiffly.

"I said I'd be glad ter warn ye--but I didn't say I war willin' ter name no names. Thet would be mighty nigh ther same thing es takin'

yore quarrel onto myself."

"Then that's all you can tell me--that it wasn't Colby?"

"Mr. Spurrier," rejoined the mountaineer seriously, "ye _knows_ jedgmatically an' p'intedly thet ye've got enemies that means business. I ain't nuver seed a man yet in these hills what belittled a peril sich as yourn thet didn't pay fer hit--with his life."

"I don't belittle it, but what can I do?"

Sam Mosebury stood with a gaze that wandered off over the broken sky line. So grave was his demeanor that when his words came they carried the shock of inconsistent absurdity.

"Thar's a witch woman, thet dwells nigh hyar. Ef I war in youre stid, I'd git her ter read ther signs fer me an' tell me what I had need guard ergainst most."

"I'm afraid," answered Spurrier, repressing his contempt with difficulty, "I'm too skeptical to pin my faith to signs and omens."

Again the mountain man was looking gravely across the hills, but for a moment the eyes had flashed humorously.

"I reckon we don't need ter cavil over thet, Mr. Spurrier. I don't sot no master store by witchcraft foolery my ownself. Mebby ye recalls thet oncet I told ye a leetle story erbout my cat an' my mockin'

bird."

"Yes," Spurrier began to understand now. "You sometimes speak in allegory. But this time I don't get the meaning."

"Waal, hit's this fashion. I _don't_ know who ther men war thet tried ter kill ye. Thet's G.o.d's truth, but I've got my own notions an' mebby they ain't fur wrong. I ain't goin' ter name no names--but ef so be ye wants ter talk ter ther witch woman, _I'll_ hev speech with her fust.

What comes outen magic kain't hardly make me no enemies--but mebby hit _mout_ enable ye ter discern somethin' thet would profit ye to a master degree."

Spurrier stood looking into the face of the other and then impulsively he thrust out his hand.