There were no tears in the voice, but a sound so suspiciously near them that ten men, shuffling their feet, wished one of their number would speak.
At last an answer came from a long shadow against the front wall of the cabin. "Certain you kin stay, Miss, and thank you. Just move on inside your house now and lock the door, for there's some among us that mebbe won't be anxious to be recognized later on as havin' give you—well, a kind of house warmin' in the Pennyrile."
A moment later, while his companions were mounting their horses, Ambrose lingered, groping before the closed door; soon he touched something of strange formation with a smooth back and a prickly arrangement on the underneath side. "Lord, what a weapon of defence—a hairbrush," he drawled, slipping it into his pocket as he visioned the girl's interrupted preparations for the night. And then when old Liza had caught up with the others: "Boys, ain't to-night enough to cure us of Ku-Kluxing, or whatever you want to call this gol darn business?"
CHAPTER VII
EM'LY DUNHAM
"Her name's Em'ly Dunham," announced Miner shortly.
Ambrose, who at this moment was arranging a pyramid design of their new stock of calicoes on a counter in the front of their shop in order to get the best colour effect, looked up quickly and then put his hand over his lips.
"Whose named Em'ly Dunham?" he inquired in a partially stifled voice, with his interest apparently still concentrated on his work.