Nance straightened by the door. She lifted her head and looked at his grim young face. Some of its grimness came subtly into her own.
“Right,” she said, “so would I. We belong to Nameless River—where our Pappy left us—and here we’ll stay. Only—I pray God to keep me from—from——” she wet her lips again, “from what is stirring inside me.”
“He will,” said Bud. “But I’m not so particular. We own this land—and we’ll fight for our own.”
“Amen,” said Nance, “we will. We’ve still got the hogs to sell. Mammy—let’s have breakfast. I’m going down to Cordova—it’s right McKane should know.”
CHAPTER XII
“GET—OUT—OF—THAT—DOOR!”
That was a bitter ride to Nance.
The day was sweet with the scents and sounds of summer. Birds called from the thickets, high up the pine tops, stirred by a little wind, sang their everlasting diapason, while she could hear far back the voice of Nameless, growing fainter as she left it.
At another time she would have missed nothing of all this, would have gloried in it, drunk with the wine of nature. Now a shadow hung over all the fair expanse of slope and mountain range, an oppression heavy, almost, as the hand of death sat on her heart.
She rode slowly, letting Buckskin take his own time and way, her hands folded listlessly on her pommel, her faded brown riding skirt swinging at her ankles. She had discarded her disfiguring bonnet for a wide felt hat of Bud’s and her bright hair shone under it like dull gold. She was scarcely thinking. She had given way to feeling—to feeling the acid of defeat eating at her vitals, the hand of an intangible force pressing upon her.
And she had to face McKane and tell him she could not pay her debt. That seemed the worst of all. She could go without their necessities—her Mammy’s shoes and Bud’s new underwear—and as for the luxuries she had planned, like the blue dress and the carpet—why, she would cease thinking about them at once, though the giving up of the carpet did come hard, she frankly owned to that. But to fail in her promise to pay—ah, that was gall to her spirit! However, it couldn’t kill them, she reasoned, no matter how bitter might be their humiliation. There was always another day, another year, for work and hope, and there were still the hogs. They would bring, at least, enough for the winter’s food supply of flour and sugar, salt and tea.