“Uh-huh,” agreed Jim Cal shaking his head dolefully, “that’s the way you talk; but you-all gals had ort to have a care how you toll fellers on. Here’s Huldy got Wade so up-tore about her that he’s a-goin’ to dash out and git him a place on the railroad whar he’s mighty apt to be killed up; and you——”
“I what?” prompted Judith sharply, as he came to a wavering pause.
“Well—they was always one man that you give good reason to expect you’d wed him. I myse’f have heared you, more’n forty times I reckon, say to Blatch Turrentine—or if not say it in so many words, at least——”
“Cousin Jim,” broke in Judith, carefully ignoring this last charge, “so far as that Lace Rountree is concerned, did you ever know of a reckless feller that come to no good but what he had some gal at whose door he could lay it all? I vow I never did. They ain’t a drinkin’ whiskey becaze they like it; they don’t git into no interruptions becaze they’re mad—it’s always ’count o’ some gal that has give ’em the mitten. I’ll thank you not to name Lace Rountree to me again, nor—nor anybody else,” as she saw his eyes wander to the sewing in her lap.
“Well, Drane’s old enough to look out for hisse’f,” said Jim Cal, rising and trying his joints apparently for a movement toward home. “Ef you choose to toll him on by takin’ care of his chaps, that’s yo’ lookout, and his lookout—’taint mine; but ’ef I was givin’ the man advice, I’d say to him that he might about as well take ’em home, or hunt up some other gal to leave ’em with, ’caze yo’ apt to much the chil’en and then pop the do’ in the daddy’s face.”
The weeks brought piecemeal confirmation of Jim Cal’s dismal forebodings. Elihu Drane took advantage of every pretext to haunt about the roof that sheltered his children. Though he was not with the sick boy, he made the presence of a “ketchin’ town disease” in his home, reason for not coming near the little ones, but called Judith down to the draw-bars to talk to him. When he had her there at such disadvantage, he so pertinaciously urged his unwelcome suit that he made her finally glad to be rid of the children, to see him, when Venters was once more well, take them away with him and give her respite from his importunities.
In the case of Wade, too, the fat man’s pessimistic expectations were realised; the young man did, early in August, dash out and secure a place on the railroad. Mountain people write few letters. They heard nothing from him after the first message which told them where he was employed and what wages he was to have.
It was September when Iley announced to Judith that she had word from some of Pap Spiller’s kin who were living in Garyville, that acquaintances of theirs from Hepzibah, coming down to the circus at the larger town, had given them roundabout and vague news of Huldah. The girl had delayed in Hepzibah but a few days. The story as it came up on the mountain was that she had married “some feller from Big Turkey Track, and gone off on the railroad.”
“Them Tuels is mighty po’ hands to remember names,” Iley said. “But all ye got to do is to look around and take notice of anybody that’s gone from Big Turkey Track here lately. Ye can fix it to suit yo’se’f. But I reckon Huldy has made a good match, and I’m satisfied.”
Judith looked upon the floor in silence. In silence she left the cabin and took her way to her own home. And that night, while the cedar tree talked to her in the voice of love—Creed’s voice—she fought with dragons and slew them, and was slain by them.