Just afore she--eh--gits ter thet thick bunch--eh--underbrush, whar' the trail sorter--eh--drops down inter the ravine.

An' you chumps wanter--eh--git--yerselves up so she can't pipe any of ye off--eh--in this yere--eh--road-agent act.

I tell ye, after what thet--eh--Moffat's bin a-pumpin' inter her, she's just got ter be--eh--rescued, an' in blame good style, er--eh--it ain't no go." "Oh, you rest easy 'bout all thet, Bill," chimed in Sandy Winn, his black eyes dancing in anticipation of coming fun.

"We 'll git up the ornariest outfit whut ever hit the pike." The long shadows of the late afternoon were already falling across the gloomy Carter woods, while the red sun sank lower behind old Bull Mountain.

The Reverend Howard Wynkoop, who for more than an hour past had been vainly dangling a fishing-line above the dancing waters of Clear Creek, now reclined dreamily on the soft turf of the high bank, his eyes fixed upon the distant sky-line.