"What is it, pappy?" she demanded.
He turned a frightened face toward her, and licked his bearded lips. For a moment he was silent, then he blurted out with no preface or preparation:
"Newty's done sot out fer Jackson ter git Henry Falkins."
With a gasp which she struggled vainly to suppress, the girl reeled back and stood leaning for support against the rough timbers of the stable. For a moment she could not understand, and when she found words she asked in a dazed voice:
"To get Henry Falkins—why?"
Over the hills the mists were slowly lifting. The upper peaks still trailed over their heights, veil-like streamers of gray mists which blotted out all outlines; but below them pale and iridescent patches of color glowed with indescribable delicacy and beauty. The miracle of awakening morning in the mountains was fulfilling itself. There before her the girl saw the crude barn and heard the grunting of razor-backs and the voices of the geese as they waddled down toward the water. She saw her father brushing his arm across his face, and shouting at intervals for his younger step-son. Once more she repeated:
"To get Henry Falkins—why?"
"Henry's ther man thet penitensheried Newt," came the response. "Newt's done swore the blood-oath. He's done tried oncet afore, but he was hindered. Thar's a meetin' over at Jackson terday, an' men air lookin' fer trouble. Newt aims ter git Henry terday."
Suddenly the girl's stupor broke into a fury of inquisition.
"Does ye aim ter stand there an' suffer a man ter be murdered without liftin' a finger ter save him?" Her questioning voice rose shrilly and lapsed into dialect. "Why did ye stand by an' let Newt go?"