. "He's done all
that could be done. He says now that only Jerry's great courage keeps
life in him and that can't avail for long. He hasn't been able to
talk--except for a few words. The longest speech was this: 'Send word
to Bear Cat--that I'm honester than he thinks.... I want to die with
his friendship ... or I can't rest afterwards....' He looked like he
wanted to tell something else and he named your father and your Uncle
Joe Stacy, but he couldn't finish. He keeps saying 'Stacy, you don't
understand.' What is it, that you don't understand, Turney? Can't you
slip over just long enough to shake hands with him? He wants you to do
it--and he's dying--and I love him. For my sake can't you come? Your
mother says you came once just to get a book--won't you do that much
for me? Blossom Henderson."

Joe Sanders shuffled his feet in poignant disgust for the perilous
procrastination. Here was a man whose life hung on instant flight, yet
he stood with eyes wide and staring, holding before them a silly sheet
of paper. His lips whispered, "Blossom Henderson--_Henderson_--not
Fulkerson no more!"

Then a wave of black resentment swept Bear Cat's face and he licked his
dry lips. "Joe," he said absently, "I hates him! I kain't shake his
hand. I tells ye I kain't do hit."

"Whose hand?--don't shake hit, then," retorted Sanders irritably, and,
with a sudden start as though he had been rudely awakened while
prattling in his sleep, Bear Cat laughed bitterly.

"Hit don't make no difference," he added shortly. "I war kinderly
talking ter myself. I reckon I'd better be leavin'."

Hurrying through the timber, toward Dog Tate's house, Turner's mind was
in a vexed quandary and after a little he irresolutely halted. His
forehead was drawn and his lips were tight. "Blossom Henderson!" he
muttered. "God knows I took plentiful risks thet ye mout w'ar thet
name--an' yit--yit when I reads hit, seems like hit drives me plumb
ravin' mad!"

From the tangle of dead briars the cold rain dripped desolately. A
single smear of lurid red was splashed across the west beyond the
silhouetted ridges.

"They're aimin' ter head me off ef I goes to'rds home," he reflected in
a bitter spirit. "An' he wants thet I should fight my way through all
them enemies ter shake his hand--so thet he kin die easy. I reckon hit
don't make no manner of diff'rence how hard I dies myself."

He covered his face with his hands and when he took them away he
altered his cou