“Mighty rough of me.”
Peggy was slightly softened. “Kin you walk?”
“No.”
“Kin you crawl?”
“Not as far as a rattler.”
“Ez far ez that clearin'?”
“Yes.”
“There's a hoss tethered out in that clearin'. I kin shift him to this end.”
“You're white all through,” said the man gravely.
Peggy ran off to the clearing. The horse belonged to Sam Bedell, but he had given Peggy permission to ride it whenever she wished. This was equivalent, in Peggy's mind, to a permission to PLACE him where she wished. She consequently led him to a point nearest the stockade, and, thoughtfully, close beside a stump. But this took some time, and when she arrived she found the fugitive already there, very thin and weak, but still smiling.