The stalwart old man on the front seat shook out the reins and whined the whip over his roans' backs. “They are the people of your State and mine. Miss Sherwood,” he said in his hearty voice, “the best people in God's world—and I'm not running for Congress, either!”
“But how about the Six-Cross-Roads people, father?” asked Minnie.
“We'll wipe them clean out some day,” answered her father—“possibly judicially, possibly——”
“Surely judiciously?” suggested Miss Sherwood.
“If you care to see what a bad settlement looks like, we'll drive through there to-morrow—by daylight,” said Briscoe. “Even the doctor doesn't insist on being in that neighborhood after dark. They are trying their best to get Harkless, and if they do——”
“If they do!” repeated Miss Sherwood. She clasped Fisbee's hand gently. His eyes shone and he touched her fingers with a strange, shy reverence.
“You will meet him to-morrow,” he said.
She laughed and pressed his hand. “I'm afraid not. He wasn't even interested enough to look at me.”