With steady directness she looked up at him. Wide gray eye and clear blue eye searched each other to the depths. And then, man to man, straight from the shoulder, she spoke out.
“I heard ’bout you huggin’ her under the bridge. ’Tain’t any of my business, only——”
“What’s that? Hugging?”
“Yes, sir, huggin’. And pretty hard, too. And that wasn’t much more’n an hour after—after”—she flushed crimson—“after you—made me—fight to git my picture. The only difference it makes to me is this: you couldn’t have much respect for yourself to do it, or for me either. ’Course, I’m only Nigger Nat’s girl, and folks ain’t got much respect for him or anybody of his, but—but that’s different.”
“I should think so!” he agreed crisply. “Those dirty little gossips who spied us made a fine tale of it, didn’t they! Well, now, here’s the exact truth.”
And the exact truth of that incident he gave her. He omitted only to tell of the woman’s clumsy attempt to lure him and of her appeal for silver from the lost mine; and these parts he left out only because of innate chivalry toward even such drab womanhood as Lou’s.
“So that’s all there is to it,” he concluded. “I tried to help her out but only got her into a worse mess, thanks to lying tongues. Now you can believe me or those kids, just as you like.”
A little longer the gray eyes held his. Then they fell, and on her lips dawned the first smile he had seen there in many a long day.
“I’m—I’m glad you come visitin’ this mornin’, even if you are mad at my pop,” she said softly. “But have we both got to keep holdin’ this ax?”
“No,” he smiled. “I can hold it alone. Let go.” She obeyed.