“Did ye?”
“And if I hadn't, I might never have gone down into Lonesome Cove.” June laughed.
“You ran from me,” Hale went on.
“Yes, I did: an' that's why you follered me.” Hale looked up quickly. Her face was demure, but her eyes danced. She was an aged little thing.
“Why did you run?”
“I thought yo' fishin' pole was a rifle-gun an' that you was a raider.” Hale laughed—“I see.”
“'Member when you let yo' horse drink?” Hale nodded. “Well, I was on a rock above the creek, lookin' down at ye. An' I seed ye catchin' minners an' thought you was goin' up the crick lookin' fer a still.”
“Weren't you afraid of me then?”
“Huh!” she said contemptuously. “I wasn't afeared of you at all, 'cept fer what you mought find out. You couldn't do no harm to nobody without a gun, and I knowed thar wasn't no still up that crick. I know—I knowed whar it was.” Hale noticed the quick change of tense.
“Won't you take me to see it some time?”