d have been
too late. The baby got to know me and my voice during that fortnight,
but it was still in danger when Grayson got back, and we went to see it
together. It was very weak, and we both leaned over the cradle, from
either side, and I saw the pity and affection--yes, hungry, half-shamed
affection--in Grayson's face. The child opened its eyes, looked from
one to the other, and held out its arms to ME. Grayson should have
known that the child forgot--that it would forget its own mother. He
turned sharply, and his face was a little pale. He gave something to
the woman, and not till then did I notice that her soft black eyes
never left him while he was in the cabin. The child got well; but
Grayson never went to the shack again, and he said nothing when I came
in one night and told him that some mountaineer--a long, dark
fellow-had taken the woman, the children, and the household gods of the
shack back into the mountains.

"They don't grieve long," I said, "these people."

But long afterwards I saw the woman again along the dusty road that
leads into the Gap. She had heard over in the mountains that Grayson
was dead, and had walked for two days to learn if it was true. I
pointed back towards Bee Rock, and told her that he had fallen from a
cliff back there. She did not move, nor did her look change.
Moreover, she said nothing, and, being in a hurry, I had to ride on.

At the foot-bridge over Roaring Fork I looked back. The woman was
still there, under the hot mid-day sun and in the dust of the road,
motionless.

COURTIN' ON CUTSHIN

Hit was this way, stranger. When hit comes to handlin' a right peert
gal, Jeb Somers air about the porest man on Fryin' Pan, I reckon; an'
Polly Ann Sturgill have got the vineg'rest tongue on Cutshin or any
other crick.

So the boys over on Fryin' Pan made it up to git 'em together. Abe
Shivers--you've heerd tell o' Abe--tol' Jeb that Polly Ann had seed him
in Hazlan (which she hadn't, of co'se), an' had said p'int-blank that
he was the likeliest feller she'd seed in them mountains. An' he tol'
Polly Ann that Jeb was ravin' crazy 'bout her. The pure misery of it
jes made him plumb delirious, Abe said; an' 'f Polly Ann wanted to find
her match fer languige an' talkin' out peert--well, she jes ought to
strike Jeb Somers. Fact is, stranger, Jeb Somers air might' nigh a
idgit; but Jeb 'lowed he'd rack right over on Cutshin an' set up with
Polly Ann Sturgill; an'