When Lem Lutts returned to the cabin an hour later, with a large, tired man and a fagged-out horse, Orlick was not with them.
Old Lutts was pacing to and fro in the moonlight. He was occupied mainly with thoughts of his new church and the dedication on Sunday.
The stranger below was to him a matter of secondary concern. He had been a hunted man all his life. Therefore, there was neither novelty nor consternation in the reflection.
The old man stalked up to the horse-block and greeted the stranger.
"Howdy? Sort o' warmish t'-night. Whut mought be yo'-all's business seein' me?"
"This is Mr. Lutts, I take it?" ventured the newcomer.
"Thes air ol' Cap Lutts, o' Moon mountain," corrected the old man in a precise tone.
"Yes, certainly," continued the man hastily. "Well, captain, I'm a deputy sheriff. I was despatched to see you and deliver a message from the sheriff."
Here he revealed his shield, then unbuckled his belt, containing a pair of pistols, and hung them over the saddle-tree.
"And, captain," he pursued wearily but genially, "I'm dog tired. I've been five hours coming up the last five miles. Can I talk with you a bit, captain?"