"Hello!" he called again.
A gaunt hound came rushing from the underbrush beyond the house, and with hair bristling in anger, howled his defiance and threats.
Again the horseman shouted, and this time the cabin door opened cautiously and a dirty-faced urchin thrust forth a tousled head.
"Where's your father?"
The head was withdrawn, and a moment later put forth again.
"He's done gone ter th' corners."
"Well, can you tell me the way to Simpson's? I don't know how to get out of this infernal hole."
Again the head disappeared for a few seconds, and then the door was thrown wide open and a slovenly woman, with a snuff stick in one corner of her mouth, came out, followed by four children. The youngest three clung to her skirts and stared, with fearful eyes, at the man on the horse, while he of the tousled head threw stones at the dog and commanded him, in a shrill voice, to "shet up, dad burn ye Kinney, shet up. He's all right."
"Wanter go ter Simpson's at the corners, do ye?" said the woman.
"Wal, yer right smart offen yer road."
"I know that," replied the stranger, impatiently; "I've been hunting turkeys and lost my way. But can't I get to the corners from here?"
"Sure ye kin. Jes' foller on down the branch 'bout three mile till ye come out on the big road; hit'll take ye straight ter th' ford below ol' Ball whar' the lone tree is. Simpson's is 'bout half a quarter on yon side the creek."