"Samson, come back." Then he handed the missive to the girl. "Thet there is addressed ter me, in care of Mr. Lescott…. Ef anything happens—ef Unc' Spicer needs me—I wants yer ter mail thet ter me quick. He says as how he won't never call me back, but, Sally, I wants thet you shall send fer me, ef they needs me. I hain't a-goin' ter write no letters home. Unc' Spicer can't read, an' you can't read much either. But I'll plumb shore be thinkin' about ye day an' night."
She gulped and nodded.
"Yes, Samson," was all she said.
The boy rose.
"I reckon I'd better be gettin' along," he announced.
The girl suddenly reached out both hands, and seized his coat. She held him tight, and rose, facing him. Her upturned face grew very pallid, and her eyes widened. They were dry, and her lips were tightly closed, but, through the tearless pupils, in the firelight, the boy could read her soul, and her soul was sobbing.
He drew her toward him, and held her very tight.
"Sally," he said, in a voice which threatened to choke, "I wants ye ter take keer of yeself. Ye hain't like these other gals round here. Ye hain't got big hands an' feet. Ye kain't stand es much es they kin. Don't stay out in the night air too much—an', Sally—fer God's sake take keer of yeself!" He broke off, and picked up his hat.
"An' that gun, Sally," he repeated at the door, "that there's the most precious thing I've got. I loves hit better then anything—take keer of hit."
Again, she caught at his shoulders.