He followed her glance, then his narrowing eyes focused on her as she turned her head toward him again.
“What name?” he asked harshly, hand to his large ear.
She smiled, raising her riding whip in quaint salute; and in a low voice she named herself demurely.
There was a long silence.
“Gosh!” he muttered, fascinated gaze never leaving her; “to think that you are that there gal! I heard tell you was young, an’ then I heard tell you was old an’ fat, ma’am. I guess there ain’t many has seen you to take notice. I guess you must be hard run to even tell me who ye be?”
She said quietly: “I think they mean to get me this time. Is there a clear road anywhere? Even if I leave my horse and travel afoot?”
“Is it a hangin’ matter?” he asked.
Presently he said: “The hull blame country’s crawlin’ with rebel cavalry. I was to Mink Creek, an’ they was passin’ on the pike, wagons an’ guns as fur as I could see. They levied on Swamp Holler at sunup; they was on every road along the State line. There ain’t no road nor cow path clear that way.”
“And none the other way,” she said. “Can’t you help me?”