lp me?"

He looked at her gravely, then his small eyes swept the limited
landscape.

"A hangin' matter," he mused, scratching his gray head reflectively.
"An' if they ketch you here, I guess I'll go to Libby, too. Hey?"

He passed his labor-worn hand over his eyes, pressing the lids, and
stood so, minute after minute, buried in thought.

"Waal," he said, dropping his hand and blinking in the ruddy glow from
the west, "I guess I ain't done nothin' fur the Union yet, but I'm
a-goin' to now, miss."

He looked around once more, his eyes resting on familiar scenery, then
he set down milking stool and pail and shuffled out to where her horse
stood.

"Guess I'll hev to hitch your hoss up to that there buckboard," he
drawled. "My old nag is dead two year since. You go in, miss, an' dress
in them clothes a-hangin' onto that peg by the bed," he added, with an
effort. "Use 'em easy; they was _hers_."

She entered the single room of the cabin, where stove, table, chair, and
bed were the only furniture. A single cheap print gown and a sunbonnet
hung from a nail at the bed's foot, and she reached up and unhooked the
garment. It was ragged but clean, and the bonnet freshly ironed.

Through the window she saw the old man unsaddling her horse and fitting
him with rusty harness. She closed the cabin door, drew the curtain at
the window, and began to unbutton her riding jacket. As her clothing
fell from her, garment after garment, that desperate look came into her
pale young face again, and she drew from her pocket a heavy army
revolver and laid it on the chair beside her. There was scarce light
enough left to see by in the room. She sat down, dragging off her
spurred boots, stripping the fine silk stockings from her feet, then
rose and drew on the faded print gown.

Now she needed more light, so she opened the door wide and pushed aside
the curtain. A fragment of cracked mirror was nailed to the door. She
faced it, rapidly undoing the glossy masses of her hair; then lifting
her gown, she buckled the army belt underneath, slipped the revolver
into it, smoothed out the calico, and crossed the floor to the bed
again, at the foot of which a pair of woman's coarse, low shoes stood on
the carpetless floor. Into these she slipped her naked feet.

He was waiting for her when she came out into the yellow evening light,
squatting there in his buckboard, reins sagging.

"There's kindlin' to last a week," he said, "the ax is in the barn