He rode
toward it slowly.
"Whoa, you rattle-headed fool," he admonished, when the horse snorted
and backed a step or two as he approached. He saw the bridle-reins
dangling, broken, where the horse had stepped on them in running. "Broke
loose and run off again," he said, as he took down his rope and widened
the loop. "I'll bet Thurman would sell you for a bent nickel, this
morning."
The horse squatted and jumped when he cast the loop, and then stood
quivering and snorting while Lone dismounted and started toward him. Ten
steps from the horse Lone stopped short, staring. For down in the bushes
on the farther side half lay, half hung the limp form of a man.
CHAPTER FIVE
A DEATH "BY ACCIDENT"
Lone Morgan was a Virginian by birth, though few of his acquaintances
knew it. Lone never talked of himself except as his personal history
touched a common interest with his fellows. But until he was seventeen
he had lived very close to the center of one of the deadliest feuds of
the Blue Ridge. That he had been neutral was merely an accident of
birth, perhaps. And that he had not become involved in the quarrel that
raged among his neighbors was the direct result of a genius for holding
his tongue.
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