“I dunno. Ye didn’t see him up the road nowheres?”
“Nope. But I haven’t been up the road very far. Just came down across-lots.”
Her gaze went over him, taking in his thorough wetness and the soggy blanket-pack. His eyes turned to the girl, who had drawn back a little and was steadfastly watching him. Over her thin dress she was wearing a ragged old coat, evidently the property of her father; and down the shoulders of the threadbare garment, unconfined by the few pins which generally held it up on her head, her hair cascaded in rippling glory. Meeting his eyes, her own contracted a little; but they held, unwavering. As swiftly as he had decided what to do for Steve that day at Uncle Eb’s, he determined what to do for her.
“Am I correct in assuming that this is Miss Marion Oaks?” he asked formally, with the tiniest droop of the off eyelid.
“You are,” she answered with a cold dignity matching his own. “What of it?”
A subdued gurgle from the older woman drew his gaze to her. On her shrewish lips he found a sour smile.
“Ye needn’t to be so awful perlite,” she drawled. “Marry told me ’bout what ye done to that ’ere catamount, an’ how ye made them fellers leave her ’lone onto the road, an’ ’bout—wal, we’re ’bliged to ye.”
“Good! Glad you know we’ve met before, I mean—there’s no obligation. Er—how does Nat feel about it?”
A scowl wiped off the thin smile. After a moment of silence she answered guardedly: “He dunno nawthin’ ’bout it.”
“I see. You don’t tell him all you know. Good idea, maybe. He’s still sore at me, then. All right. Just keep him away from me and we won’t have any trouble. I’m sorry I had to shoot up those dogs of yours, but——”