“Yes, uncle—I will pray for y’u,” she said, softly.
The change in his voice held a note of sadness that she had been quick to catch.
“Ellen, y’u’re the only good Jorth—in the whole damned lot,” he said. “God! I see it all now.... We’ve dragged y’u to hell!”
“Yes, Uncle Tad, I’ve shore been dragged some—but not yet—to hell,” she responded, with a break in her voice.
“Y’u will be—Ellen—unless—”
“Aw, shut up that kind of gab, will y’u?” broke in Colter, harshly.
It amazed Ellen that Colter should dominate her uncle, even though he was wounded. Tad Jorth had been the last man to take orders from anyone, much less a rustler of the Hash Knife Gang. This Colter began to loom up in Ellen’s estimate as he loomed physically over her, a lofty figure, dark motionless, somehow menacing.
“Ellen, has Colter told y’u yet—aboot—aboot Lee an’ Jackson?” inquired the wounded man.
The pitch-black darkness of the cabin seemed to help fortify Ellen to bear further trouble.
“Colter told me dad an’ Uncle Jackson would meet us heah,” she rejoined, hurriedly.