"It seems to be a steady glow, not a moving lantern."
"Well, a 'possum supper, then."
They went on in silence, keeping an eye on the light, which was now just below them, apparently at the base of the rock, or cliff, they were on. Then they heard the murmur of voices. A thick curtain of grapevine here hung in and between the trees, so that in the daytime vision could never have penetrated to what was beneath. But now, through the interstices, they could plainly see, about thirty feet below them, the steady glow of a large fire, which appeared to be under a sort of furnace of rock; a number of planks and barrels; several rifles leaning against a tree; and some of Fult's crowd of young men. Four were engaged in a game of cards, by the light of the furnace; another was watching the game and feeding the furnace with an occasional chunk of wood; still another was working at the barrels; while the last—Charlie Lee—was sampling the tiny stream that trickled from a pipe in the barrel nearest the furnace and fell into a bucket. Fult himself was nowhere to be seen.
"These boys are not having any 'possum supper," said Virginia, in a shocked voice; "they are running a still."
"Oh, they couldn't," exclaimed Amy, "after all Fult's promises to us."
"I've been wild to see a still all my life," said Isabel.
The three stood rooted, gazing with all their eyes. As they looked, Fult himself, rifle on arm (evidently he had been on guard below), stepped into the circle of light.
"Mend up the fire, boys," he ordered, "we want to finish this last run-off. Hit ought to be nigh done now. Charlie, quit tasting them strong shots—you hain't able to stand hit."
Stooping over, he tasted a "shot" himself, to tell about the stage of the liquor. At the same moment, Isabel, in her consuming desire to see the fuller workings of the still, stepped nearer to the cliff-edge, and with her foot struck a small rock, scarcely more than a pebble, which bounded off the cliff. It could not have made much noise in falling; but instantly the furnace light was completely muffled, every voice was stilled. Then, before any of the women could stir, a bullet whizzed just over Isabel's head, and a sharp command of "Halt!" rang out. There was the sound of someone scrambling up through trees and vines, and in another instant Fult, rifle in hand, stepped out on the cliff before them, into the moonlight.
He looked, and stood as if turned to stone.