“‘I feel shore you never intended to steal that hoss, Wakeman.’
“‘My wife never has believed it fer one instant,’ said the superintendent. ‘An’ it takes a woman to ferret out guilt.’
“The governor tuk a sheet o’ paper an’ a pen an’ said:
“‘Wakeman, I’m a-goin’ to pardon you, an’ what’s more, I inten’ to send a statement to all the newspapers that I’m convinced you are a wronged man. I’ve done wuss than you was accused of in my young days, an’ had the cheek to run fer the office of governor.’” Then the superintendent’s wife come in an’ stood up thar an’ cried, an’ axed to be allowed to unlock my manacles. She got out my old suit—this un heer—an’ breshed it ‘erself, an’ kept on a-cryin’ an’ a-laughin’ at the same time The last words that she said to me was:
“‘Wakeman, go home an’ make up with yore wife; she won’t turn ag’in you when you git back to the old place whar you an’ her has lived together so long, an’ whar yore child’s grave is.’”
The speaker paused. For a man so coarse in appearance, his tone had grown remarkably tender. Lucinda was staring wide-eyed, with a fixed aspect of features, as if she were half frightened at the unwonted commotion within herself and the danger of its appearing on the surface. Finally she took refuge in the act of raising her apron to her eyes.
Mrs. Wakeman had excellent command over herself, drawing upon a vast fund of offended pride, the interest of which had compounded within the last four years. Just at this crisis the steady beat of a horse’s hoofs broke into the hushed stillness of the room. Lucinda lowered her apron with wrists that seemed jointless bone, and stared at her sister.
“Are you a-goin’ to let that feller stick his head inside that door to-night?”
The question was ill-timed, for it produced only a haughty, contemptuous shrug in the woman from whom it rebounded. Wakeman did not take his eyes from the fire. They heard the gate-latch click, and then a heavy-booted and spurred foot fell on the entry step. The next instant the door was unceremoniously opened and a tall, lank mountaineer entered. He was at the fag-end of bachelorhood, had sharp, thin features, a small mustache dyed black, and reddish locks which were long and curling. He wore a heavy gray shawl over his shoulders. At first he did not see Wakeman, for his eyes had found employment in trying to discover why Marty had not risen as he came in. He glanced inquiringly at Lucinda, and then he recognized Richard.
“My Lord!” he muttered. “I had no idee you—I ‘lowed you—”