“You must be crazy,” cried Polly, indignantly. “I hope you don’t think I’d marry that creetur. I wouldn’t look at him if he was the last man. You better be thinkin’ about your goozle.”
“It’s ketchin’ befo’ hangin’,” said Israel.
“They’ve mighty nigh got you now,” said Polly. Just then a hickory nut dropped on the roof of the house, and the noise caused the girl to start up with an exclamation of terror.
“You thought they had me then,” said Israel, as he rose and stood before the fire, rubbing his hands together, and seeming to enjoy most keenly the warm interest the girl manifested in his welfare.
“Oh, I wisht you’d cut an’ run,” pleaded Polly, covering her face with her hands; “they’ll be here therreckly.”
Israel was not a bad-looking fellow as he stood before the fire laughing. He was a very agreeable variation of the mountain type. He was angular, but neither stoop-shouldered nor cadaverous. He was awkward in his manners, but very gracefully fashioned. In point of fact, as Mrs. Powers often remarked, Israel was “not to be sneezed at.”
After a while he became thoughtful. “I jest tell you what,” he said, kicking the chunks vigorously, and sending little sparks of fire skipping and cracking about the room. “This business puzzles me—I jest tell you it does. That Wes. Lovejoy done like he was the best friend I had. He was constantly huntin’ me up in camp, an’ when I told him I would like to come home an’ git mammy’s crap in, he jest laughed an’ said he didn’t reckon I’d be missed much, an’ now he’s a-houndin’ me down. What has the man got agin me?”
Polly knew, but she didn’t say. Mrs. Spurlock suspected, but she made no effort to enlighten Israel. Polly knew that Lovejoy was animated by blind jealousy, and her instinct taught her that a jealous man is usually a dangerous one. Taking advantage of one of the privileges of her sex, she had at one time carried on a tremendous flirtation with Lovejoy. She had intended to amuse herself simply, but she had kindled fires she was powerless to quench. Lovejoy had taken her seriously, and she knew well enough that he regarded Israel Spurlock as a rival. She had reason to suspect, too, that Lovejoy had pointed out Israel to the conscript officers, and that the same influence was controlling and directing the pursuit now going on.
Under the circumstances, her concern—her alarm, indeed—was natural. She and Israel had been sweethearts for years,—real sure-enough sweethearts, as she expressed it to her grandfather,—and they were to be married in a short while; just as soon, in fact, as the necessary preliminaries of clothes-making and cake-baking could be disposed of. She thought nothing of her feat of climbing the mountain in the bitter cold and the overwhelming rain. She would have taken much larger risks than that; she would have faced any danger her mind could conceive of. And Israel appreciated it all; nay, he fairly gloated over it. He stood before the fire fairly hugging the fact to his bosom. His face glowed, and his whole attitude was one of exultation; and with it, shaping every gesture and movement, was a manifestation of fearlessness which was all the more impressive because it was unconscious.
This had a tendency to fret Polly, whose alarm for Israel’s safety was genuine.