her only style of
fightin' thet will avail. Seems like ter me hit'd be right cowardly ter
run away."

To the boy these principles had never before needed defence. They had
been axioms, yet now he parried with a faltering demurrer:

"Ther books says that, down below, when fellers fights, they does hit in
ther open."

"Alright. Thet's ther best way so long as _both_ of 'em air in ther
open. But ef one stands out in ther highway an' tother lays back in ther
timber, how long does ye reckon ther fight's a'goin' ter last? A man may
love ter be above-board--but he's _got_ ter be practical."

It was the man now who sat forgetful of his food, relapsing into a
meditative silence. The leaping fire threw dashes of orange high-lights
on his temple and jaw angle and in neither pattern of feature nor
quality of eye was there that degenerate vacuity which one associates
with barbarous cruelty.

His wife, turning just then from the hearth, saw his abstraction--and
understood. She knew what tides of anxious thought and bitter
reminiscence had been loosed by the boy's questioning, and her own face
too stiffened. Asa was thinking of the malign warp and woof which had
been woven into the destiny of his blood and of the uncertain tenure it
imposed upon his own life-span. He was meditating perhaps upon the
wrinkled crone who had been his mother; "fittified" and mumbling
inarticulate and unlovely vagaries over her widowed hearth.

But Araminta herself thought of Asa: of the dual menace of assassination
and the gallows, and a wave of nauseating terror assailed her. She shook
the hair resolutely out of her eyes and spoke casually:

"La! Asa, ye're lettin' yore vittles git plum cold whilst ye sets thar
in a brown study." Inwardly she added with a white-hot ferocity of
passion, "Ef they lay-ways him, or hangs him, thank God his baby's a
man-child--an' I'll know how ter raise hit up ter take a full
accountin'!"

But as the man's face relaxed and he reached toward the biscuit plate
his posture froze into an unmoving one--for just an instant. From the
darkness outside came a long-drawn halloo, and the poised hand swept
smoothly sidewise until it had grasped the rifle and swung it clear of
the floor. The eye could hardly have followed Asa's rise from his chair.
It seemed only that one moment found him seated and the next standing
with his body warily inclined and his eyes fixed on the door, while his
voice demanded:

"Who's out thar?"

"