Clem Rawlins shook his head.
"What war I a-goin' ter do?" he perplexedly demanded. "Does ye reckon Newty war liable ter take counsel offen me."
"Well, ye've got ter do suthin now, Clem Rawlins," she commanded, and her voice was fiercely imperative. "Ther blood-curse hes laid on these hyar hills full long, an' God Almighty will hold ye blameful ef ye don't stop this killin'."
The man stood there dazed and frightened, and dropped his eyes before the flaming accusation of her steady gaze.
His bare toes twisted themselves in the dust, and at last he spoke, almost in a whine:
"Ther Deacon hes done bid me ter fotch word ter Jim Spooner's cabin ef Newt fared forth terday. They aims ter send ther signal ahead with fox horns, an' ther Deacon 'lows ter look atter Newty when he gits ter town. Thet's what I'm a-callin' sonny fer. I wants ter send him over ter Jim's house."
The girl laughed scornfully. This moment of need had transformed her from Minerva of the schools to Minerva of the unrelenting hills. Her mission was still the mission of the school, but her method was the method of the hills.
"An' ye aims ter trust ther life of ther only real man in these mountings ter ther dawdling of sonny?" The question was contemptuous. She, who brooked day-long heckling without retort, must now be answered without evasion. "No—I'll go myself, an' I won't stop thar. I'll borry a ridin'-critter from Jim Spooner, an' I'll take the short cut over ther ridges an' ther roughs, an' I'll git ter town ahead of Newt. I aims ter carry a warnin' inter Jackson."
She wheeled and without sun-bonnet or hat plunged into the laurel thickets of the hillside, and was climbing with a tireless stride up slopes which would have winded a razor-back hog.
Later on, she could think: now, she must act. The life of the man she had idealized was the prize for which she was fighting.