Hale interrupted her, shaking his head.
"If there is, I don"t want to know."
"But there isn"t, there isn"t!" she cried, "I don"t know what is the matter with me. I hate--" the tears started again, and again she was on the point of breaking down, but Hale checked her.
"Now, now," he said soothingly, "you mustn"t, now--that"s all right. You mustn"t." Her anger at herself helped now.
"Why, I stood like a silly fool, tongue-tied, and I wanted to say so much. I--"
"You don"t need to," Hale said gently, "I understand it all. I understand."
"I believe you do," she said with a sob, "better than I do."
"Well, it"s all right, little girl. Come on."
They issued forth into the sunlight and Hale walked rapidly. The strain was getting too much for him and he was anxious to be alone. Without a word more they pa.s.sed the old school-house, the ma.s.sive new one, and went on, in silence, down the street. Hitched to a post, near the hotel, were two gaunt horses with drooping heads, and on one of them was a side-saddle. Sitting on the steps of the hotel, with a pipe in his mouth, was the mighty figure of Devil Judd Tolliver. He saw them coming--at least he saw Hale coming, and that far away Hale saw his bushy eyebrows lift in wonder at June. A moment later he rose to his great height without a word.
"Dad," said June in a trembling voice, "don"t you know me?" The old man stared at her silently and a doubtful smile played about his bearded lips.
"Hardly, but I reckon hit"s June."
She knew that the world to which Hale belonged would expect her to kiss him, and she made a movement as though she would, but the habit of a lifetime is not broken so easily. She held out her hand, and with the other patted him on the arm as she looked up into his face.
"Time to be goin", June, if we want to get home afore dark!"
"All right, Dad."
The old man turned to his horse.
"Hurry up, little gal."
In a few minutes they were ready, and the girl looked long into Hale"s face when he took her hand.
"You are coming over soon?"
"Just as soon as I can." Her lips trembled.
"Good-by," she faltered.
"Good-by, June," said Hale.
From the steps he watched them--the giant father slouching in his saddle and the trim figure of the now sadly misplaced girl, erect on the awkward-pacing mountain beast--as incongruous, the two, as a fairy on some prehistoric monster. A horseman was coming up the street behind him and a voice called:
"Who"s that?" Hale turned--it was the Honourable Samuel Budd, coming home from Court.
"June Tolliver."
"June Taliaferro," corrected the Hon. Sam with emphasis.
"The same." The Hon. Sam silently followed the pair for a moment through his big goggles.
"What do you think of my theory of the latent possibilities of the mountaineer--now?"
"I think I know how true it is better than you do," said Hale calmly, and with a grunt the Hon. Sam rode on. Hale watched them as they rode across the plateau--watched them until the Gap swallowed them up and his heart ached for June. Then he went to his room and there, stretched out on his bed and with his hands clenched behind his head, he lay staring upward.
Devil Judd Tolliver had lost none of his taciturnity. Stolidly, silently, he went ahead, as is the custom of lordly man in the mountains--horseback or afoot--asking no questions, answering June"s in the fewest words possible. Uncle Billy, the miller, had been complaining a good deal that spring, and old Hon had rheumatism. Uncle Billy"s old-maid sister, who lived on Devil"s Fork, had been cooking for him at home since the last taking to bed of June"s step-mother. Bub had "growed up" like a hickory sapling. Her cousin Loretta hadn"t married, and some folks allowed she"d run away some day yet with young Buck Falin. Her cousin Dave had gone off to school that year, had come back a month before, and been shot through the shoulder. He was in Lonesome Cove now.
This fact was mentioned in the same matter-of-fact way as the other happenings. Hale had been raising Cain in Lonesome Cove--"A-cuttin"
things down an" tearin" "em up an" playin" h.e.l.l ginerally."
The feud had broken out again and maybe June couldn"t stay at home long.
He didn"t want her there with the fighting going on--whereat June"s heart gave a start of gladness that the way would be easy for her to leave when she wished to leave. Things over at the Gap "was agoin" to perdition," the old man had been told, while he was waiting for June and Hale that day, and Hale had not only lost a lot of money, but if things didn"t take a rise, he would be left head over heels in debt, if that mine over in Lonesome Cove didn"t pull him out.
They were approaching the big Pine now, and June was beginning to ache and get sore from the climb. So Hale was in trouble--that was what he meant when he said that, though she could leave the mountains when she pleased, he must stay there, perhaps for good.
"I"m mighty glad you come home, gal," said the old man, "an" that ye air goin" to put an end to all this spendin" o" so much money. Jack says you got some money left, but I don"t understand it. He says he made a "investment" fer ye and tribbled the money. I haint never axed him no questions. Hit was betwixt you an" him, an" "twant none o" my business long as you an" him air goin" to marry. He said you was goin" to marry this summer an" I wish you"d git tied up right away whilst I"m livin", fer I don"t know when a Winchester might take me off an" I"d die a sight easier if I knowed you was tied up with a good man like him."
"Yes, Dad," was all she said, for she had not the heart to tell him the truth, and she knew that Hale never would until the last moment he must, when he learned that she had failed.
Half an hour later, she could see the stone chimney of the little cabin in Lonesome Cove. A little farther down several spirals of smoke were visible--rising from unseen houses which were more miners" shacks, her father said, that Hale had put up while she was gone. The water of the creek was jet black now. A row of rough wooden houses ran along its edge. The geese cackled a doubtful welcome. A new dog leaped barking from the porch and a tall boy sprang after him--both running for the gate.
"Why, Bub," cried June, sliding from her horse and kissing him, and then holding him off at arms" length to look into his steady gray eyes and his blushing face.
"Take the horses, Bub," said old Judd, and June entered the gate while Bub stood with the reins in his hand, still speechlessly staring her over from head to foot. There was her garden, thank G.o.d--with all her flowers planted, a new bed of pansies and one of violets and the border of laurel in bloom--unchanged and weedless.
"One o" Jack Hale"s men takes keer of it," explained old Judd, and again, with shame, June felt the hurt of her lover"s thoughtfulness.
When she entered the cabin, the same old rasping petulant voice called her from a bed in one corner, and when June took the shrivelled old hand that was limply thrust from the bed-clothes, the old hag"s keen eyes swept her from head to foot with disapproval.
"My, but you air wearin" mighty fine clothes," she croaked enviously.
"I ain"t had a new dress fer more"n five year;" and that was the welcome she got.
"No?" said June appeasingly. "Well, I"ll get one for you myself."
"I"m much obleeged," she whined, "but I reckon I can git along."
A cough came from the bed in the other corner of the room.
"That"s Dave," said the old woman, and June walked over to where her cousin"s black eyes shone hostile at her from the dark.
"I"m sorry, Dave," she said, but Dave answered nothing but a sullen "howdye" and did not put out a hand--he only stared at her in sulky bewilderment, and June went back to listen to the torrent of the old woman"s plaints until Bub came in. Then as she turned, she noticed for the first time that a new door had been cut in one side of the cabin, and Bub was following the direction of her eyes.
"Why, haint n.o.body told ye?" he said delightedly.
"Told me what, Bub?"
With a whoop Bud leaped for the side of the door and, reaching up, pulled a shining key from between the logs and thrust it into her hands.
"Go ahead," he said. "Hit"s yourn."