"Is he asleep?"
"I don't know, Miss Harriet, but I think not."
"Did they hurt him last night, Mr. Washburn?"
"Why, no, Miss Harriet, not a single bit."
She caught her breath in relief. "I thought maybe they had, and that he was not going to acknowledge it. Are—are you sure?"
"As sure as I could be of anything, Miss Harriet; I believe he is a truthful man, an' he told me they didn't lay the weight of a finger on 'im. You kin go up an' ax 'im. He ain't asleep; he looked too worried to sleep when he got back. He walked the floor the balance o' the night. Seems to me he's been through with enough to lay out six common men."
Harriet did not answer. She turned into the office and went up the stairs to Westerfelt's room. Round her was a dark, partially floored space containing hay, fodder, boxes of shelled corn, piles of corn in the husk, and bales of cotton-seed meal. She rapped on the door-facing, and, as she received no response, she called out:
"Mr. Westerfelt, come out a minute."
She heard him rise from his bed, and in a moment he stood in the doorway.
"Oh, it's you!" he cried, in a glad voice. "I was afraid you were not well. I—"