"He says yo'll do him a great favoh if yo' jes' go to baid. He sends his 'spects an' hopes yo' slumbeh won' be distubbed ag'in."
"He's a perfect brute!" exclaimed Beverly, but she went over and crawled under the blankets and among the cushions the wounded man had scorned.
CHAPTER VII — SOME FACTS AND FANCIES
There was a soft, warm, yellow glow to the world when Beverly Calhoun next looked upon it. The sun from his throne in the mountain tops was smiling down upon the valley the night had ravaged while he was on the other side of the earth. The leaves of the trees were a softer green, the white of the rocks and the yellow of the road were of a gentler tint; the brown and green reeds were proudly erect once more.
The stirring of the mountain men had awakened Aunt Fanny, and she in turn called her mistress from the surprisingly peaceful slumber into which perfect health had sent her not so many hours before. At the entrance to the improvised bedchamber stood buckets of water from the spring.
"We have very thoughtful chambermaids," remarked Beverly while Aunt Fanny was putting her hair into presentable shape. "And an energetic cook," she added as the odor of broiled meat came to her nostrils.
"Ah cain' see nothin' o' dat beastes, Miss Beverly—an'—Ah—Ah got mah suspicions," said Aunt Fanny, with sepulchral despair in her voice.
"They've thrown the awful thing into the river," concluded Beverly.