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Page 7
"I will go on with you," said James.
They walked on for the half mile of which the girl had spoken. A sudden
shyness seemed to have come over both of them. Then they began to come
in sight of houses. "I am not afraid now," said the girl, "but I do
think you are very foolish if you go back alone and try to hunt that
man. Ten chances to one he is armed, and you haven't a thing to defend
yourself with, except that medicine-case."
"I have my fists," replied James indignantly.
"Fists don't count much against a revolver."
"Well, I am going to try," said James with emphasis.
"Good-by, then. You are treating me shamefully, though."
James stared at her in amazement. She was actually weeping, tears were
rolling over her cheeks.
"What do you mean?" said he. "Don't feel so badly."
"You can't be very quick-witted not to see. If you should meet that man,
and get killed, I should really be the one who killed you and not the
man."
"Why, no, you would not."
The girl stamped her foot. "Yes, I should, too," said she, half-sobbing.
"You would not have been killed except for me. You know you would not."
She spoke as if she actually saw the young man dead before her, and was
indignant because of it, and he burst into a peal of laughter.
"Laugh if you want to," said she. "It does not seem to me any laughing
matter to go and get yourself killed by me, and my having that on my
mind my whole life. I think I should go mad." Her voice shook, an
expression of horror came into her blue eyes.
James laughed again. "Very well, then," he said, "to oblige you I won't
get killed."
He, in fact, began to consider that the day was waning, and what a
wild-goose chase it would probably be for him to attempt to follow the
man. So again they walked on until they reached the main street of
Westover.
Westover was a small village, rather smaller than Gresham. They passed
three gin-mills, a church, and a grocery store. Then the girl stopped at
the corner of a side street. "My friend lives on this street," said she.
"Thank you very much. I don't know what I should have done if you had
not come. Good-by!" She went so quickly that James was not at all sure
that she heard his answering good-by. He thought again how very handsome
she was. Then he began to wonder where she lived, and how she would get
home from her friend's house, if the friend had a brother who would
escort her. He wondered who her friends were to let a girl like that
wander around alone in a State which had not the best reputation for
safety. He entertained the idea of waiting about until she left her
friend's house, then he considered the possible brother, and that the
girl herself might resent it, and he kept on. The western sky was
putting on wonderful tints of cowslip and rose deepening into violet. He
began considering his own future again, relegating the girl to the
background. He must be nearing Alton, he thought. After a three-mile
stretch of farming country, he saw houses again. Lights were gleaming
out in the windows. He heard wheels, and the regular trot of a horse
behind him, then a mud-bespattered buggy passed him, a shabby buggy, but
a strongly built one. The team of horses was going at a good clip. James
stood on one side, but the team and buggy had no sooner passed than he
heard a whoa! and a man's face peered around the buggy wing, not at
James, but at his medicine-case. James could just discern the face,
bearded and shadowy in the gathering gloom. Then a voice came. It
shouted, one word, the expressive patois of the countryside, that word
which may be at once a question and a salute, may express almost any
emotion. "Halloo!" said the voice.
This halloo involved a question, or so James understood it. He quickened
his pace, and came alongside the buggy. The face, more distinct now,
surveyed him, its owner leaning out over the side of the buggy. "Who are
you? Where are you bound?"
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