an I ought to be.
I oughtn't never to have had a whiskey-still, an' I wouldn't have drunk so
much. I got money--money for you, Jinny, for you an' Jake, but I've lost
what I'll never git back. I'm afeard to go down the river with him. I'd go
smash in the Dog Nose Rapids. I got no nerve. I can't hunt the grizzly any
more, nor the puma, Jinny. I got to keep to common shootin', now and
henceforth, amen! No, I'd go smash in Dog Nose Rapids."

She caught his hands impulsively. "Don't you fret, Uncle Tom. You've bin a
good uncle to me, and you've bin a good friend, and you ain't the first
that's found whiskey too much for him. You ain't got an enemy in the
mountains. Why, I've got two or three--"

"Shucks! Women--only women whose beaux left 'em to follow after you.
That's nothing, an' they'll be your friends fast enough after you're
married to-morrow."

"I ain't going to be married to-morrow. I'm going down to Bindon to-night.
If Jake's mad, then it's all over, and there'll be more trouble among the
women up here."

By this time they had entered the other room. The old man saw the white
petticoat on the chair. "No woman in the mountains ever had a petticoat
like that, Jinny. It'd make a dress, it's that pretty an' neat. Golly! I'd
like to see it on you, with the blue skirt over, and just hitched up a
little."

"Oh, shut up--shut up!" she said, in sudden anger, and caught up the
petticoat as though she would put it away; but presently she laid it down
again and smoothed it with quick, nervous fingers. "Can't you talk sense
and leave my clothes alone? If Jake comes, and I'm not here, and he wants
to make a fuss, and spoil everything, and won't wait, you give him this
petticoat. You put it in his arms. I bet you'll have the laugh on him.
He's got a temper."

"So've you, Jinny, dear, so've you," said the old man, laughing. "You're
goin' to have your own way, same as ever--same as ever."

II

A moon of exquisite whiteness silvering the world, making shadows on the
water as though it were sunlight and the daytime, giving a spectral look
to the endless array of poplar trees on the banks, glittering on the foam
of the rapids. The spangling stars made the arch of the sky like some
gorgeous chancel in a cathedral as vast as life and time. Like the day
which was ended, in which the mountain-girl had found a taste of Eden, it
seemed too sacred for mortal strife. Now and again there came the note of
a night-bird, the croak of a f