Jed pushed a hand up under his tattered old hat, and scratched awhile before he answered, “Don’t know ’bout th’ entertainin’, Mister, but ’most anybody would take you in.” He turned and looked thoughtfully up the trail. “I don’t guess Jim’s to home though; ’cause I see’d Sammy a fixin’ t’ go over t’ th’ Matthews’s when I come past. You know the Matthews’s, I reckon?”
There was a hint of impatience now in the deep voice. “No, I told you that I had never been in these mountains before. Will Mr. Matthews keep me, do you think?”
Jed, who was still looking up the trail, suddenly leaned forward, and, pointing into the timber to the left of the path, said in an exciting whisper, “Look at that, Mister; yonder thar by that big rock.”
The stranger, looking, thought he saw a form, weird and ghost-like in the mist, flitting from tree to tree, but, even as he looked, it vanished among the hundreds of fantastic shapes in the gray forest. “What is it?” he asked.
The native shook his head. “Durned if I know, Mister. You can’t tell. There’s mighty strange things stirrin’ on this here mountain, an’ in the Holler down yonder. Say, Mister, did you ever see a hant?”
The gentleman did not understand.
“A hant, a ghost, some calls ’em,” explained Jed. “Bud Wilson he sure seed old Matt’s—”
The other interrupted. “Really, young man, I must go. It is already late, and you know I have yet to find a place to stay for the night.”
“Law, that’s alright, Mister!” replied Jed. “Ain’t no call t’ worry. Stay anywhere. Whar do you live when you’re to home?”
Again Jed’s question was ignored. “You think then that Mr. Matthews will keep me?”