His misconstruction of her purpose cleared her mind. “Don’t be foolish,” she said, hurriedly. “It’s a question of perhaps life and death! Do you know where Reuben Tracy is? Or can you tell me where I can find out?”
“He don’t want to be bothered with you, wherever he is,” was the surly response. “Be off with you!”
“I told you it was a matter of life and death,” she insisted, earnestly. “He’ll never forgive you—you’ll never forgive yourself—if you know and won’t tell me.”
The sincerity of the girl’s tone impressed the old man. It was not easy for him to stand erect and unaided without swaying, but his mind was evidently clear enough.
“What do you want with him?” he asked, in a less unfriendly voice. Then he added, in a reflective undertone: “Cur’ous’t I sh’d want see Tracy, too.”
“Then you do know where he is?”
“He’s drove out to ’s mother’s farm. Seems word come old woman’s sick. You’re one of that Lawton tribe, aren’t you?”
“If I get a cutter, will you drive out there with me?” She asked the question with swift directness. She added in explanation, as he stared vacantly at her: “I ask that because you said you wanted to see him, that’s all. I shall go alone if you won’t come. He’s got to be back here this evening, or God only knows what’ll happen! I mean what I say!”
“Do you know the road?” the ’squire asked, catching something of her own eager spirit.
“Every inch of it! I was bom half a mile from where his mother lives.”