'Massy on us!' shrilled the old woman aghast. 'D'rindy, shet the door! Be ye a-lettin' the lawless ones in on us! raiders an' sech, scoutin' 'roun' in the fog—an' nobody hyar but Pete, ez couldn't be waked up right handy with nuthin' more wholesome'n a bullet—a——'
There was a man's figure in the doorway—a slow, hesitating figure, and Rick Tyler, his face grave and dubious, embarrassed by the complicated effort to look at Dorinda and yet seem to ignore her, trod heavily in, and with a soft and circumspect manner closed the door.
'I kem over hyar, Mis' Cayce,' he remarked, 'ez I 'lowed mebbe the boys war at the still an' yer felt lonesome, bein' ez it air rainin' right smart, an''—he hesitated.
'Howdy, Rick—howdy!' she exclaimed cordially. He had the benefit of her relief in finding the visitor not a raider. 'Jes' sot yer bones down hyar by the fire. Airish out o' doors, ain't it? I'm powerful glad to see ye. D'rindy ain't much company when she air busy, an' the weavin' ain't done yit.'
'I 'lowed ez I mought resk comin' up hyar wunst in a while now,' he said, with a covert glance at Dorinda. 'I ain't keerin' much fur the new sher'ff, 'kase he air a town man, an' don't know me; an' the new constable, he 'lowed over yander ter the store ez he war a off'cer o' the law, an' not a shootin' mark fur folks ez war minded ter hide out; an' Gid Fletcher hev been told ez he'd hev others ter deal with ef he ondertook ter fool along arrestin' me agin. So I hev got no call ter stay ez close in the bresh ez I hev been, though I ain't a-goin' ter furgit these hyar consarns, nuther.'
He glanced down at the glimmer of steel in his belt, where Dorinda recognised her father's pistols.
'Bes' be on the safe side,' said the old woman approvingly, her nimble needles quivering in the light. 'But law! I useter know a man over yandar on Chilhowee Mounting, whar I lived afore I war married, an' he hed killed fower men—though I b'lieve one o' 'em war a Injun—an' he hed no call ter aggervate hisself with sher'ffs nor shootin'-irons, nuther. He walked 'round ez favoured an' free ez my old tur-r-key gobbler. Though some said he hed bad dreams. But ez he war a hearty feeder they mought hev kem from the stummick stiddier the heart.'
The young man listened with a doubtful mien. He was thrown back at his ease in the splint-bottomed chair. One stalwart leg, the boot reaching over his trousers to the knee, was stretched out to the fire; from the damp sole the steam was starting in the warm air. On his other knee one of the shooting-irons in question rested; he held it lightly with one hand. The other hand was thrust into the belt that girded his brown jeans coat. His tawny yellow hair, the ends of a deeper tint, being wet, hung to his coat collar.
His hat, from the broad brim of which raindrops were still trickling, was deposited beneath the chair, and the kitten was investigating it with a dainty, scornful white mitten. He bore the marks of his trials in his sharpened features; his face took on readily a lowering expression, and a touch of anger kindled the smouldering fire in his brown eyes.
'But I hev killed no man,' he said, with emphasis. 'I hev hurt nobody. Ef I hed, 'twouldn't be no more'n I oughter do ter g'long with the sher'ff an' leave it ter men. But I ain't done no harm. An' I don't want ter stay in jail, an' be tried, an' kem ter jedgment, an' sech, an' mebbe hev them buzzardy lawyers fix suthin' on me ennyways.'