l would harm her not at all. But he shut his teeth, and watched her.
Among mountain women the girl was more than pretty; elsewhere only her
hair, perhaps, would have caught the casual eye. She wore red homespun
and coarse shoes; her hands were brown and hardened. Her arms and
shoulders looked muscular, her waist was rather large-being as nature
meant it-and her face in repose had a heavy look. But the poise of her
head suggested native pride and dignity; her eyes were deep, and full of
changing lights; the scarlet dress, loose as it was, showed rich curves
in her figure, and her movements had a certain childlike grace. Her brow
was low, and her mouth had character; the chin was firm, the upper lip
short, and the teeth were even and white.

"I reckon thar's enough to fill the sack, Isom," said the old miller,
breaking the strained silence of the group. The girl rose and handed him
a few pieces of silver.

"I reckon I'd better pay fer it all," she said. "I s'pose I won't be over
hyeh ag'in."

Old Gabe gave some of the coins back.

"Y'u know whut my price al'ays is," he said.

"I'm obleeged," answered the girl, flushing.

"Co'n hev riz on our side. I thought mebbe you charged folks over thar
more, anyways."

"I sells fer the same, ef co'n is high ur low," was the answer. "This
side or t'other makes no diff'unce to me. I hev frien's on both sides,
'n' I take no part in sech doin's as air a shame to the mountains."

There was a quick light of protest in the girl's dark eyes; but the old
miller was honored by both factions, and without a word she turned to
the boy, who was tying the sack.

"The boat's loose!" he called out, with the string between his teeth;
and she turned again and ran out. Rome stood still.

"Kerry the sack out, boy, 'n' holp the gal." Old Gabe's voice was stern,
and the young mountaineer doggedly swung the bag to his shoulders. The
girl had caught the rope, and drawn the rude dugout along the shore.

"Who axed ye to do that?" she asked, angrily.

Rome dropped the bag into the boat, and merely looked her in the face.

"Look hyeh, Rome Stetson"--the sound of his name from her lips almost
startled him--"I'll hev ye understan' that I don't want to be bounden to
you, nor none o' yer kin."

Turning, she gave an impatient sweep with her paddle. The prow of the
canoe dipped and was motionless. Rome had caught the stern, and the girl
wheeled in hot anger. Her impulse to strike may have been for the