Then Sheldon took from his pocket a stump of a lead pencil and another piece of paper and wrote another bulletin.
“She’ll know what to do when she finds that,” said he. “Now march!”
Herbert went out the front door and round the house into the woods as he was directed. At the wood’s edge, Black Smith fell in with them; the other remained behind.
“What are you going to do with my sister?” demanded Herbert.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” answered Sheldon. “I want the paper, I don’t want your sister. Wishin’ she’d come an’ take care of you, are you, mammy’s boy?”
Herbert made no answer. Now Black Smith took a share in the conversation.
“The mountain people don’t stand for no nonsense,” said he. “They ain’t like the people of the plain. The people of the plain says one thing and means another, while the mountain people says one thing and sticks to it. The mountain people—”
“Shut up!” commanded Sheldon, whether in weariness of Black Smith’s loquacity or because he thought silence best, it was hard to say. There was a surprising sentimentality about Black Smith.
“You talk too much,” said Sheldon.
The three looked back. From their position they could see past the corner of the house to a spot of color still vivid in the afternoon light. Sheldon lifted his gun.