"Sartinly," said the old woman, looking him over curiously. "
Easter, go git some fresh."
The girl started to rise, but Clayton, picking up the bucket, said, quickly:
"Oh no; I won't trouble you. I see the spring," he added, noticing a tiny stream that trickled from a fissure at the base of the cliff.
Who air that feller, Easter? " the mother asked, in a low voice, when Clayton was out of hearing.
"One o' them furriners who hev come into Injun Creek," was the indifferent reply.
That's splendid water," said Clayton, returning. "May I give you some?" The old woman shook her head. Easter's eyes were still on the mountains, and apparently she had not heard him.
"Hit air good water," said the mother. "That spring never does go dry. You better come in and rest a spell. I suppose ye air from the mines?" she added, as she turned to resume spinning.
Yes," answered Clayton. "There is good hunting around here, isn't there? " he went on, feeling that some explanation was due for his sudden arrival away up in that lone spot.
There was no answer. Easter did not look toward him, and the spinning stopped.
"Whut d'you say?" asked the old woman.