the
pine woods, limbs and body tanned with walnut, her slender feet rubbed
in dust and then thrust stockingless into shapeless shoes, she let down
the dark, lustrous mass of her hair, braided it, tied it with faded
ribbon, rubbed her hands in wood mold and crushed green leaves over them
till they seemed all stained and marred with toil. Then she gathered an
armful of splinter wood.

Now ready, she tethered her horse, leaving him bitted and saddled;
spread out his sack of feed, turned and looked once more at the cabin,
then walked noiselessly to the clearing's edge, carrying her aromatic
splinters.

Underfoot, as she crossed it, the charred grass crumbled to powder;
three wild doves flickered up into flight, making a soft clatter and
displaying the four white feathers. A quail called from the bean patch.

The heat was intense in the sun; perspiration streaked her features; her
tender feet burned; the cabin seemed a long way off, a wavering blot
through the dancing heat devils playing above the fire-scorched open.

Head bent, she moved on in the shiftless, hopeless fashion of the sort
of humanity she was representing, furtively taking her bearings and
making such sidelong observations as she dared. To know the shortest way
back to her horse might mean life to her. She understood that. Also she
fully realized that she might at that very instant be under hostile
observation. In her easily excited imagination, all around her the
forest seemed to conceal a hundred malevolent eyes. She shivered
slightly, wiped the perspiration from her brow with one small bare fist,
and plodded on, clutching her lightwood to her rounded breast.

And now at last she was nearing the open cabin door; and she must not
hesitate, must show no suspicion. So she went in, dragging her
clumsily-shod feet.

A very young man in the uniform of a Confederate cavalry officer was
seated inside before the empty fireplace of baked clay. He had a bad
scar on his temple. She looked at him, simulating dull surprise; he rose
and greeted her gracefully.

"Howdy," she murmured in response, still staring.

"Is this your house?" he asked.

"Suh?" blankly.

"Is this your house?"

"I reckon," she nodded. "How come you-all in my house?"

He replied with another question:

"What were you doing in the woods?"

"Lightwood," she answered briefly, stacking the fragrant splinters on
the table.

"Do you live here all alone?"

"Reckon I'm alone when I live h