“They've got used to it, and so would you if your folks had been living out in this wilderness for a hundred years.”
From a yard that they passed, a boy with a vacant face and retreating forehead dropped his axe to stare at them.
“That's the second one I've seen,” said the professor.
“Yes, idiots are not unusual in these mountains—inbreeding!”
“Do they still have moonshining and feuds and all that yet?”
“Plenty of moonshining. The feuds are all over practically, though I did hear that the big feud over the mountain was likely to be stirred up again—the old Camp and Adkin feud.” A question came faintly from behind:
“Do you know any of the Camps?”
“Used to know old Red King Camp, the leader. He's in the penitentiary now for killing a man. What's the matter?” He turned in his saddle, but the New Englander had recovered himself.
“Nothing—nothing. It seems awful to a Northern man.”
The stranger thought he had heard a groan behind him, and he had—King Camp was the name of the Northern man's father-in-law. Ah, he was beginning to understand; but why did Juno not want him to come for five years?