“Nobody,” was the answer; “that gal al'ays goes home alone.” She heard his snort of incredulity.
“Well, I'm goin' with her right now.” The other man caught his arm.
“No, you ain't”—and she heard no more.
Athwart the wooded spur she strode like a man. Her full cheeks and lips were red and her black, straight hair showed Indian blood, of which she was not ashamed. On top of the spur a lank youth with yellow hair stood in the path.
“How-dye, Allaphair!” he called uneasily, while she was yet some yards away.
“How-dye!” she said unsmiling and striding on toward him with level eyes.
“Allaphair,” he pleaded quickly, “lemme——”
“Git out o' my way, Jim Spurgill.” The boy stepped quickly from the path and she swept past him.
“Allaphair, lemme walk home with ye.” The girl neither answered nor turned her head, though she heard his footsteps behind her.
“Allaphair, uh, Allaphair, please lemme—” He broke off abruptly and sprang behind a tree, for Allaphair's ungentle ways were widely known. The girl had stooped for a stone and was wheeling with it in her hand. Gingerly the boy poked his head out from behind the tree, prepared to dodge.