There could be no doubt. Those massive traps, with their cruel teeth of steel, meant by the makers for the holding of beasts, had been set here by Hodges for the snaring of men. The contrivance was fiendishly efficient. From her coign of vantage on the cliff top, Plutina could see, on a height above, the brush-covered distillery. A thin, blue column of smoke rose straight in the calm air, witness that the kettle was boiling over hickory logs, that a “run” of the liquor was being made. Plutina recalled that, in a recent raid against Hodges, the still had been captured and destroyed though the gang had escaped. Such loss was disastrous, for the new copper and worm and fermenters meant a cost of a hundred dollars, a sum hard to come on in the mountain coves. Usually, the outfit is packed on the men’s backs to hiding in the laurel, afterward shifted to another obscure nook by running water. It was plain that Hodges had grown more than ever venomous over the destruction of his still, and had no scruples as to the means he would employ to prevent a repetition of such catastrophe. No need now to fear lest sentinels be not alert. The natural path to the still was along the course of the stream. The unwary passer over the tiny stretch of greensward on which the girl looked down, would follow the dim trail of footsteps, and so inevitably come within the clutch of the great jaws, which would hurl themselves together, rending and crunching the flesh between. The victim’s shrieks of anguish under the assault would be a warning to the lawless men above. They would make ready and flee with their possessions, and be lost in the laurel once again. Yes, the device was simple, diabolically simple, and adequate. It required only that its executant should be without bowels of compassion.

Plutina, strong-nerved as she was, found herself shuddering as she realized the heinousness of this thing. The soft bloom of the roses in her cheeks faded to white; the dark radiance of the eyes was dimmed with horror; the exquisite lips were compressed harshly against their own quivering weakness. For Plutina, despite strength of body and sane poise of soul, was a gentle and tender woman, and the brutal project spread before her eyes was an offense to every sensibility. Then, very soon, the mood of passive distress yielded to another emotion: a lust for vengeance on the man who would insure his own safety thus, reckless of another’s cost. A new idea came to the girl. At its first advent, she shrank from it, conscience-stricken, for it outraged the traditions of her people. But the idea returned, once and again. It seemed to her that the evil of the man justified her in any measure for his punishment. She had been bred to hate and despise a spy, but it was borne in on her now that duty required of her to turn informer against Dan Hodges. There was more even than the inflicting of punishment on the outlaw; there was the necessity of safeguarding the innocent from the menace of those hidden man-traps. Any “furriner” from down below might wander here, whipping the stream; or any one of the neighborhood might chance on the spot. The Widow Higgins’ heifers sometimes strayed; the old woman might come hither, seeking them. Plutina shuddered again, before the terrible vision of the one who was like a mother to her, caught and mangled by the pointed fangs waiting amid the grasses below.

The question as to her right conduct in the affair remained with the girl, as she descended from the cliff, and made her way slowly homeward. She temporized by a precautionary measure. At the widow’s cabin, she secured the old woman’s promise not to go beyond the clearing in quest of the cattle. But the difficulty as to her course was not abated. Inclination urged her to advise the authorities concerning the locations of still and traps, and inclination was reinforced by justice. Yet, over against this, there were the powerful influence of her upbringing, the circumstances of her environment, the tragedy of her father’s death, the savage resentment of her grandfather, already virulent against her lover all forces to inspire enmity against the representatives of a law regarded as the violation of inalienable rights. True, there was growing an insidious change in the sentiment of the community. Where all had once been of accord, the better element were now becoming convinced that the illicit liquor-making cursed the mountains, rather than blessed. Undoubtedly, some effect of this had touched the girl herself, without her knowledge, else she had never thought to betray even such a miscreant as Hodges. There was, however, an abiding hate of the informer here, as always among decent folk, though along with it went reprobation of the traffic in moonshine. Plutina felt that she could never justify her action in the sight of her people, should she bring the revenue men into the mountain. Her own grandfather would curse her, and drive her forth. His feeling had been shown clearly in the case of Zeke. So, in her period of uncertainty and stress, there was none of whom the girl could take counsel. But, in the end, she decided that she must give warning to the United States marshal. The task demanded care. On absolute secrecy depended, in all likelihood, her very life.

The trove of honey had come opportunely, since the sale of a portion afforded Plutina plausible excuse for her trip to Joines’ store. There, a telephone had been recently installed, and it was the girl’s intention to use this means of communication with the marshal. That the danger of detection was great, she was unhappily aware, but, she could devise no plan that seemed less perilous. So, early in the morning of the day following her discovery, she made her way along the North Wilkesboro’ road, carrying twenty pounds of the sour-wood honey. At the store, she did her trading, and afterward remained loitering, as is the custom of shoppers in the region. The interval of waiting seemed to her interminable, for trade was brisk. There was always someone near enough the telephone to overhear, for it was unprotected by a booth. But, finally, the customers lessened. The few remaining were in the front of the store, at a safe distance from the instrument which was on a shelf at the back. Plutina believed that her opportunity was come. She knew the amount of the toll, and had the necessary silver in her hand to slip into the box. Then, just as she was about to take down the receiver, her apprehensive glance, roving the room, fell on Ben York, who entered briskly, notwithstanding his seventy years, and came straight toward her. Plutina’s lifted hand fell to her side, and dread was heavy on her. For Ben York was the distiller in Hodges’ gang.

The old man had a reputation almost as notorious as that of Hodges himself. The girl felt a wave of disgust, mingled with alarm, as she caught sight of the face, almost hidden behind a hoary thicket of whiskers. The fellow was dirty, as always, and his ragged clothes only emphasized the emaciation of his dwarfed form. But the rheumy eyes had a searching quality that disturbed the girl greatly. She knew that the man was distinguished for his intelligence as well as for his general worthlessness. In the experience of years, he had always escaped the raiders, nor had they been able ever to secure any evidence against him. He was, in fact, as adroit of mind as he was tough of body. He had lived hard all his days, either in drunken carouse or lying out in the laurel to escape the summons of the courts. Where, alas! a holier man might have been broken long ago, the aged reprobate thrived, and threatened to infest the land for years to come. Now, he greeted the girl casually enough, made a purchase, and took his departure. He seemed quite unsuspicious, but Plutina felt that his coming on her thus was an evil omen, and, for a moment, she faltered in her purpose.

A hand went to her bosom, and touched the tiny leather bag that hung from a cord about her neck inside the gown. Within it was the fairy crystal. The touch of it strengthened her in some subtle fashion. It was as if to her weakness there came miraculously something vital, something occultly helpful in her need, from the distant lover. The superstition, begotten and nourished always in the fastnesses of the heights, stirred deeply within her, and comforted her. Of a sudden, courage flowed back into her. She took down the receiver.

After all, nothing was accomplished. The marshal was not in his office, but absent somewhere in the mountains. Plutina would not risk giving information to any other than the officer himself, whom she knew, and respected. Disconsolate, she abandoned the attempt for the time being, and set out to get a bag of wheat flour from the mill close by, on the other side of Roaring River.

As Plutina, with the bag of flour on shoulder, was making her way back from the mill, across the big sycamore trunk that serves as a foot bridge, a horse splashed into the ford alongside. The girl looked up, to see the very man she sought. Marshal Stone called a cheery greeting, the while his horse dropped its head to drink.

“Howdy, Plutina?”

“Howdy, Mr. Stone,” she answered. Her free hand went again to the talisman in her bosom. Surely, its charm was potent!

“All’s well as common, at home?” Stone continued. His critical eyes delighted in the unconscious grace of the girl, as she stood poised above the brawling stream, serene in her physical perfection; and above the delicately modeled symmetry of form was the loveliness of the face, beautiful as a flower, yet strong, with the shining eyes and the red lips, now parted in eagerness. The marshal wondered a little at that eagerness. He wondered still more at her hurried speech after one quick glance to make sure that none could overhear:

“I mustn’t be seed talkin’ to ye, but I got somethin’ to say ’ll he’p ye arn yer pay. Kin ye meet me in an hour by the sun, at the olé gate on the east end o’ Wolf Rock?”

The marshal’s answer wasted no words:

“Go on, gal I’ll be there.”

Wolf Rock, a huge, jutting mass of barren cliff, though tiny beside the bulk of Stone Mountain, which overshadows it, lies between Garden Creek and Thunder Branch, a little to the north of where these streams flow into Roaring River. Its situation, nearly midway between the mill and the Siddon Cabin, made it a convenient point for the meeting between Plutina and the officer. Its loneliness lessened the element of danger. Both were prompt to the rendezvous. Well under the hour, man and girl were standing together within a bower of newly blossoming rhododendrons. Above them, the naked rock bent sharply, its granite surface glistening in the hot noonday sun. They had withdrawn some score of yards from the old wooden gate that barred the lane here, lest a chance passer-by see them together. Plutina opened her mind without hesitation. The decision once made, she had no thought of drawing back.

“I ’low I kin trust ye, Mister Stone,” she said simply, and the sincerity of the lustrous eyes as they met his confirmed her words. “Afore you-all’s time in the revenue service, raiders done kilt my daddy. I kain’t never fergive them men, but they’s out o’ the service now, er I wouldn’t have come to ye. Gran’pap says they’s a better lot o’ revenuers now ‘n what used to be an’ he says as how Marshal Stone don’t do no dirt. Thet’s why I’m a-trusting ye, so’s ye kin kotch the pizen-meanest white man a-makin’ likker in the hull Stone Mountain country him an’ his gang an’ his still.”

The marshal’s eyes sparkled.

“I reckon you’re talking about Dan Hodges,” he interjected.

Plutina nodded her head in somber acquiescence.

“Then you needn’t have any scruples about giving information,” Stone continued, urgently. “He and his gang are a menace to the peace of the settlement. I’ll keep you out of it, of course, to save you embarrassment.”

“Ye’d better,” Plutina retorted, “to save my life. I don’t know’s I mind bein’ embarrassed so much, but I don’t feel called to die yit.”

“No, no; there won’t be anything like that,” the marshal exclaimed, much disconcerted. “I’ll see no trouble comes to you. Nobody’ll know your part.”

“’Cept me!” was the bitter objection. “If ’twas anybody but that ornery galoot, I wouldn’t say a word. Ye know that.”

“I know,” Stone admitted, placatingly.

In his desire to change her mood, he blundered on:

“And there’s the reward for getting the ’copper’ twenty dollars for you Plutina. If we get Hodges, I’ll give you another fifty out of my own pocket. That’ll buy you a nice new dress or two, and a hat, and some silk stockings for those pretty legs of yours.”

Plutina flared. The red glowed hot in her cheeks, and the big eyes flashed. The mellow voice deepened to a note of new dignity, despite her anger.

“I hain’t come hyar to gas ‘bout rewards, an’ money outten yer pocket, Mister Stone, or ‘bout my clothes an’ sech. I’m an engaged woman. When I wants to cover my legs with stockin’s Zeke Higgins’ money’ll do the payin’, an’ he won’t need no he’p from no damned revenuer.”

Stone, realizing too late the error in his diplomacy, made what haste he could to retrieve it. His smile was genial as he spoke. He seemed quite unabashed, just heartily sympathetic, and his manner calmed the girl’s irritation almost at once.

“Oh, you little mountain hornet! Well, you are telling me news now. And it’s the kind to make any old bachelor like me weep for envy. Lucky boy, Zeke! I guess he knows it, too, for he’s got eyes in his head. About the money why, you’ve a right to it. If Dan Hodges and his gang ain’t rounded up quick, they’ll be killing some good citizen like me, perhaps.”

Plutina had recovered her poise, but she spoke no less firmly:

“No, suh, I won’t tech the money. I kin show ye how to kotch the hull gang, but not fer pay, an not fer love o’ no revenuer, neither. Hit’s jest fer the good o’ this country hyarbout. Dan Hodges has done sot b’ar-traps to kotch you-all. An’ anybody might walk plumb into ’em, but not if I kin he’p hit.”

Forthwith, she made the situation clear to her eager listener.

“Kin you-all meet me, an hour by the sun in the mornin’, on the trail to Cherry Lane post-office jest beyond the Widder Higgins’ clearin’? I’ll take ye to the place, whar ye kin see the still, an’ the traps.”

“I’ll have to move lively,” the marshal answered, with a somewhat rueful laugh. “Twenty miles’ ride to North Wilkesboro’, and back. But I’ll do it, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for a good deal. I’ll have my men waiting at Trap Hill. If things shape right, I’ll make the raid to-morrow night.”