ass givin' up
her school an' comin' home thar to ten' beastes an' do your work like
she war a man. Her family wa'n't brought up that-a-way, nor mine wa'n't
neither. Big fool Marthy war to marry with your paw. Hit's that-a-way
with all the Farwells; they been that quarellin' an' bad, makin' mean
whiskey an' drinkin' hit raw, killin' hyar an' thar, an' now you go
doin' the same, an' my own nephew, too." Her face remained impassive,
and her voice droned on monotonously, but two tears stole down her
wrinkled cheeks. His face settled into its harder lines as she talked,
but he made no reply, and she continued querulously: "Why'n't you pay
heed to me long ago, when I tol' ye not to open that thar still again?
You are a heap too young to go that-a-way,--my own kin, like to be hung
fer man-killin'."

"When did Cass come?" he interrupted sullenly.

"Las' evenin'."

"I'll drap 'round thar this evenin' er late night, I reckon. I have to
get feed fer my own hoss an' tote hit up er take him back--one. All I
fetched up last week he done et." He turned to walk away, but stood with
averted head as she began speaking again.

"Don't you do no such fool thing. You keep clar o' thar. Bring the hoss
to me, an' I'll ride him home. What you want o' the beast on the
mountain, anyhow? Hit's only like to give away whar ye'r' at. All you
want is to git to see Cass, but hit won't do you no good, leastways not
now. You done so bad she won't look at ye no more, I reckon. They is a
man thar, too, now." He started back, his hands clinched, his head
lifted, in his whole air an animal-like ferocity. "Thar now, look at ye.
'Tain't you he's after."

"'Tain't me I'm feared he's after. How come he thar?"

"He come with her las' evenin'--" A sound of horses' hoofs on the road
far below arrested her. They both waited, listening intently. "Thar they
be. Git," she whispered. "Cass tol' me ef I met up with ye, to say 'at
she'd leave suthin' fer ye to eat on the big rock 'hind the holly tree
at the head o' the fall." She leaned down to him and held him by the
coat an instant, "Son, leave whiskey alone. Hit's the only way you kin
do to get her."

"Yas, Aunt Sally," he murmured. His eyes thanked her with one look for
the tone or the hope her words held out.

Again the laugh, nearer this time, and again the wild look of haunting
fear in his face. He dropped where he stood and slipped stealthily as a
cat back to the place where he had lain, and crawling on