“I will, dad,” she said, and tenderly she watched his great figure slouch out of sight.
An hour after dark, as old Judd sat on the porch of the cabin in Lonesome Cove, young Dave Tolliver rode up to the gate on a strange horse. He was in a surly mood.
“He lemme go at the head of the valley and give me this hoss to git here,” the boy grudgingly explained. “I'm goin' over to git mine termorrer.”
“Seems like you'd better keep away from that Gap,” said the old man dryly, and Dave reddened angrily.
“Yes, and fust thing you know he'll be over hyeh atter YOU.” The old man turned on him sternly.
“Jack Hale knows that liquer was mine. He knows I've got a still over hyeh as well as you do—an' he's never axed a question nor peeped an eye. I reckon he would come if he thought he oughter—but I'm on this side of the state-line. If I was on his side, mebbe I'd stop.”
Young Dave stared, for things were surely coming to a pretty pass in Lonesome Cove.
“An' I reckon,” the old man went on, “hit 'ud be better grace in you to stop sayin' things agin' him; fer if it hadn't been fer him, you'd be laid out by them Falins by this time.”
It was true, and Dave, silenced, was forced into another channel.
“I wonder,” he said presently, “how them Falins always know when I go over thar.”