“I believe you do,” she said with a sob, “better than I do.”
“Well, it's all right, little girl. Come on.”
They issued forth into the sunlight and Hale walked rapidly. The strain was getting too much for him and he was anxious to be alone. Without a word more they passed the old school-house, the massive new one, and went on, in silence, down the street. Hitched to a post, near the hotel, were two gaunt horses with drooping heads, and on one of them was a side-saddle. Sitting on the steps of the hotel, with a pipe in his mouth, was the mighty figure of Devil Judd Tolliver. He saw them coming—at least he saw Hale coming, and that far away Hale saw his bushy eyebrows lift in wonder at June. A moment later he rose to his great height without a word.
“Dad,” said June in a trembling voice, “don't you know me?” The old man stared at her silently and a doubtful smile played about his bearded lips.
“Hardly, but I reckon hit's June.”
She knew that the world to which Hale belonged would expect her to kiss him, and she made a movement as though she would, but the habit of a lifetime is not broken so easily. She held out her hand, and with the other patted him on the arm as she looked up into his face.
“Time to be goin', June, if we want to get home afore dark!”
“All right, Dad.”
The old man turned to his horse.
“Hurry up, little gal.”