God! Shoot her down, Bill Boggs, shoot her down!"
Now, naturally, the soldiers preferred fresh meat, and they got
it--impressing cattle, sheep, and hogs, geese, chickens, and ducks,
vegetables--nothing escaped the capacious maw of the Army of the
Callahan. It was a beautiful idea, and the success of it pleased Flitter
Bill mightily, but the relief did not last long. An indignant murmur
rose up and down valley and creek bottom against the outrages, and one
angry old farmer took a pot-shot at Captain Wells with a squirrel rifle,
clipping the visor of his forage cap; and from that day the captain
began to call with immutable regularity again on Flitter Bill for bacon
and meal. That morning the last straw fell in a demand for a wagon-load
of rations to be delivered before noon, and, worn to the edge of his
patience, Bill had sent a reckless refusal. And now he was waiting on
the stoop of his store, looking at the mouth of the Gap and waiting for
it to give out into the valley Captain Wells and his old gray mare. And
at last, late in the afternoon, there was the captain coming--coming at
a swift gallop--and Bill steeled himself for the onslaught like a knight
in a joust against a charging antagonist. The captain saluted
stiffly--pulling up sharply and making no move to dismount.

"Purveyor," he said, "Black Tom has just sent word that he's a-comin'
over hyeh this week--have you heerd that, purveyor?" Bill was silent.

"Black Tom says you _air_ responsible for the Army of the Callahan. Have
you heerd that, purveyor?" Still was there silence.

"He says he's a-goin' to hang me to that poplar whar floats them Stars
and Bars"--Captain Mayhall Wells chuckled--"an' he says he's a-goin' to
hang _you_ thar fust, though; have you heerd _that_, purveyor?"

The captain dropped the titular address now, and threw one leg over the
pommel of his saddle.

"Flitter Bill Richmond," he said, with great nonchalance, "I axe you--do
you prefer that I should disband the Army of the Callahan, or do you
not?"

"No."

The captain was silent a full minute, and his face grew stern. "Flitter
Bill Richmond, I had no idee o' disbandin' the Army of the Callahan, but
do you know what I did aim to do?" Again Bill was silent.

"Well, suh, I'll tell you whut I aim to do. If you don't send them
rations I'll have you cashiered for mutiny, an' if Black Tom don't hang
you to that air poplar, I'll hang you thar myself, suh; yes, by ----! I
will. Dick!" he called sharply to the slave. "Hitch up that air wagon,
fill hit full o' bacon and meal, and drive it up thar to my tent. An' be
mighty damn quick about it, or I'll hang you, too."

The negro gave a swift glance to his master, and Flitter Bill feebly
waved acquiescence.

"Purveyor, I wish you good-day."

Bill gazed after the great captain in dazed wonder (was this the man who
had come cringing to him only a few short weeks ago?) and groaned aloud.

But for lucky or unlucky coincidence, how could the prophet ever have
gained name and fame on earth?

Captain Wells rode back to camp chuckling--chuckling with satisfaction
and pride; but the chuckle passed when he caught sight of his tent. In
front of it were his lieutenants and some half a dozen privates, all
plainly in great agitation, and in the midst of them stood the lank
messenger who had brought the first message from Black Tom, delivering
another from the same source. Black Tom _was_ coming, coming surer and
unless that flag, that "Rebel rag," were hauled down under twenty-four
hours, Black Tom would come over and pull it down, and to that same
poplar hang "Captain Mayhall an' his whole damn army." Black Tom might
do it anyhow--just for fun.

While the privates listened the captain strutted and swore; then he
rested his hand on his hip and smiled with silent sarcasm, and then
swore again--while the respectful lieutenants and the awed soldiery of
the Callahan looked on. Finally he spoke.

"Ah--when did Black Tom say that?" he inquired casually.

"Yestiddy mornin'. He said he was goin' to start over hyeh early this
mornin'." The captain whirled.

"What? Then why didn't you git over hyeh _this_ mornin'?"

"Couldn't git across the river last night."

"Then he's a-comin' to-day?"

"I reckon Black Tom'll be hyeh in about two hours--mebbe he ain't fer
away now." The captain was startled.

"Lieutenant Skaggs," he called, sharply, "git yo' men out thar an' draw
'em up in two rows!"

The face of the student of military tactics looked horrified. The
captain in his excitement had relaxed into language that was distinctly
agricultural, and, catching the look on his subordinate's face, and at
the same time the reason for it, he roared, indignantly:

"Air you afeer'd, sir? Git yo' men out, I said, an' march 'em up thar in
front of the Gap. Lieutenant Boggs, take ten men and march at double
quick through the Gap, an' defend that poplar with yo' life's blood. If
you air overwhelmed by superior numbers, fall back, suh, step by step,
until you air re-enforced by Lieutenant Skaggs. If you two air not able
to hold the enemy in check, you may count on me an' the Army of the
Callahan to grind _him_--" (How the captain, now thoroughly aroused to
all the fine terms of war, did roll that technical "him" under his
tongue)--"to grind him to pieces ag'in them towerin' rocks, and plunge
him in the foilin' waters of Roarin' Fawk. Forward, suh--double quick."
Lieutenant Skaggs touched his cap. Lieutenant Boggs looked embarrassed
and strode nearer.

"Captain, whar am I goin' to git ten men to face them Kanetuckians?"

"Whar air they goin' to git a off'cer to lead 'em, you'd better say,"
said the captain, severely, fearing that some of the soldiers had heard
the question. "If you air afeer'd, suh"--and then he saw that no one had
heard, and he winked--winked with most unmilitary familiarity.

"Air you a good climber, Lieutenant Boggs?" Lieutenant Boggs looked
mystified, but he said he was.

"Lieutenant Boggs, I now give you the opportunity to show yo' profound
knowledge of the ticktacks of war. You may now be guilty of disobedience
of ordahs, and I will not have you court-martialled for the same. In
other words, if, after a survey of the situation, you think best--why,"
the captain's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, "pull that flag down,
lieutenant Boggs, pull her down."



III

It was an hour by sun now. Lieutenant Boggs and his devoted band of ten
were making their way slowly and watchfully up the mighty chasm--the
lieutenant with his hand on his sword and his head bare, and bowed in
thought. The Kentuckians were on their way--at that moment they might be
riding full speed toward the mouth of Pigeon, where floated the flag.
They might gobble him and his command up when they emerged from the Gap.
Suppose they caught him up that tree. His command might escape, but _he_
would be up there, saving them the trouble of stringing him up. All they
would have to do would be to send up after him a man with a rope, and
let him drop. That was enough. Lieutenant Boggs called a halt and
explained the real purpose of the expedition.

"We will wait here till dark," he said, "so them Kanetuckians can't
ketch us, whilst we are climbing that tree."

And so they waited opposite Bee Rock, which was making ready to blossom
with purple rhododendrons. And the reserve back in the Gap, under
Lieutenant Skaggs, waited. Waited, too, the Army of the Callahan at the
mouth of the Gap, and waited restlessly Captain Wells at the door of his
tent, and Flitter Bill on the stoop of his store--waited everybody but
Tallow Dick, who, in the general confusion, was slipping through the
rhododendrons along the bank of Roaring Fork, until he could climb the
mountain-side and slip through the Gap high over the army's head.

What could have happened?

When dusk was falling, Captain Wells dispatched a messenger to
Lieutenant Skaggs and his reserve, and got an answer; Lieutenant Skaggs
feared that Boggs had been captured without the firing of a single
shot--but the flag was floating still. An hour later, Lieutenant Skaggs
sent another message--he could not see the flag. Captain Wells answered,
stoutly:

"Hold yo' own."

And so, as darkness fell, the Army of the Callahan waited in the strain
of mortal expectancy as one man; and Flitter Bill waited, with his horse
standing saddled in the barn, ready for swift flight. And, as darkness
fell, Tallow Dick was cautiously picking his way alongside the steep
wall of the Gap toward freedom, and picking it with stealthy caution,
foot by foot; for up there, to this day, big loose rocks mount halfway
to the jagged points of the black cliffs, and a careless step would have
detached one and sent an avalanche of rumbling stones down to betray
him. A single shot rang suddenly out far up through the Gap, and the
startled negro sprang forward, slipped, and, with a low, frightened
oath, lay still. Another shot followed, and another. Then a hoarse
murmur rose, loudened into thunder, and ended in a frightful--boom! One
yell rang from the army's throat:

"The Kentuckians! The Kentuckians! The wild, long-haired, terrible
Kentuckians!"

Captain Wells sprang into the air.

"My God, they've got a cannon!"

Then there was a martial chorus--the crack of rifle, the hoarse cough of
horse-pistol, the roar of old muskets.

"Bing! Bang! Boom! Bing--bing! Bang--bang! Boom--boom!
Bing--bang--boom!"

Lieutenant Skaggs and his reserves heard the beat of running feet down
the Gap.

"They've gobbled Boggs," he said, and the reserve rushed after him as he
fled. The army heard the beat of their coming feet.

"They've gobbled Skaggs," the army said.

Then was there bedlam as the army fled--a crashing through bushes--a
splashing into the river, the rumble of mule wagons, yells of terror,
swift flying shapes through the pale moonlight. Flitter Bill heard the
din as he stood by his barn door.

"They've gobbled the army," said Flitter Bill, and he, too, fled like a
shadow down the valley.

Nature never explodes such wild and senseless energy as when she lets
loose a mob in a panic. With the army, it was each man for himself and
devil take the hindmost; and the flight of the army was like a flight
from the very devil himself. Lieutenant Boggs, whose feet were the
swiftest in the hills, outstripped his devoted band. Lieutenant Skaggs,
being fat and slow, fell far behind his reserve, and dropped exhausted
on a rock for a moment to get his breath. As he rose, panting, to resume
flight, a figure bounded out of the darkness behind him, and he gathered
it in silently and went with it to the ground, where both fought
silently in the dust until they rolled into the moonlight and each
looked the other in the face.

"That you, Jim Skaggs?"

"That you, Tom Boggs?"

Then the two lieutenants rose swiftly, but a third shape bounded into
the road--a gigantic figure--Black Tom! With a startled yell they
gathered him in--one by the waist, the other about the neck, and, for a
moment, the terrible Kentuckian--it could be none other--swung the two
clear of the ground, but the doughty lieutenants hung to him. Boggs
trying to get his knife and Skaggs his pistol, and all went down in a
heap.

"I surrender--I surrender!" It was the giant who spoke, and at the sound
of his voice both men ceased to struggle, and, strange to say, no one of
the three laughed.

"Lieutenant Boggs," said Captain Wells, thickly, "take yo' thumb out o'
my mouth. Lieutenant Skaggs, leggo my leg an' stop bitin' me."

"Sh--sh--sh--" said all three.

The faint swish of bushes as Lieutenant Boggs's ten men scuttled into
the brush behind them--the distant beat of the army's feet getting
fainter ahead of them, and then silence--dead, dead silence.

"Sh--sh--sh!"

With the red streaks of dawn Captain Mayhall Wells was pacing up and
down in front of Flitter Bill's store, a gaping crowd about him, and the
shattered remnants of the army drawn up along Roaring Fork in the rear.
An hour later Flitter Bill rode calmly in.

"I stayed all night down the valley," said Flitter Bill. "Uncle Jim
Richmond was sick. I hear you had some trouble last night, Captain
Wells." The captain expanded his chest.

"Trouble!" he repeated, sarcastically. And then he told how a charging
horde of daredevils had driven him from camp with overwhelming numbers
and one piece of artillery; how he had rallied the army and fought them
back, foot by foot, and put them to fearful rout; how the army had
fallen back again just when the Kentuckians were running like sheep, and
how he himself had stayed in the rear with Lieutenant Boggs and
Lieutenant Skaggs, "to cover their retreat, suh," and how the purveyor,
if he would just go up through the Gap, would doubtless find the cannon
that the enemy had left behind in their flight. It was just while he was
thus telling the tale for the twentieth time that two figures appeared
over the brow of the hill and drew near--Hence Sturgill on horseback and
Tallow Dick on foot.

"I ketched this nigger in my corn-fiel' this mornin'," said Hence,
simply, and Flitter Bill glared, and without a word went for the
blacksnake ox-whip that hung by the barn door.

For the twenty-first time Captain Wells started his tale again, and with
every pause that he made for breath Hence cackled scorn.

"An', Hence Sturgill, ef you will jus' go up in the Gap you'll find a
cannon, captured, suh, by me an' the Army of the Callahan, an'--"

"Cannon!" Hence broke in. "Speak up, nigger!" And Tallow Dick spoke
up--grinning:

"I done it!"

"What!" shouted Flitter Bill.

"I kicked a rock loose climbin' over Callahan's Nose."

Bill dropped his whip with a chuckle of pure ecstasy. Mayhall paled and
stared. The crowd roared, the Army of the Callahan grinned, and Hence
climbed back on his horse.

"Mayhall Wells," he said, "plain ole Mayhall Wells, I'll see you on
Couht Day. I ain't got time now."

And he rode away.

[Illustration: "Speak up, nigger."]



IV

That day Captain Mayhall Wells and the Army of the Callahan were in
disrepute. Next day the awful news of Lee's surrender came. Captain
Wells refused to believe it, and still made heroic effort to keep his
shattered command together. Looking for recruits on Court Day, he was
twitted about the rout of the army by Hence Sturgill, whose long-coveted
chance to redeem himself had come. Again, as several times before, the
captain declined to fight--his health was essential to the general
well-being--but Hence laughed in his face, and the captain had to face
the music, though the heart of him was gone.

He fought well, for he was fighting for his all, and he knew it. He
could have whipped with ease, and he did whip, but the spirit of the
thoroughbred was not in Captain Mayhall Wells. He had Sturgill down, but
Hence sank his teeth into Mayhall's thigh while Mayhall's hands grasped
his opponent's throat. The captain had only to squeeze, as every
rough-and-tumble fighter knew, and endure his pain until Hence would
have to give in. But Mayhall was not built to endure. He roared like a
bull as soon as the teeth met in his flesh, his fingers relaxed, and to
the disgusted surprise of everybody he began to roar with great
distinctness and agony:

"'Nough! 'Nough!"

The end was come, and nobody knew it better than Mayhall Wells. He rode
home that night with hands folded on the pommel of his saddle and his
beard crushed by his chin against his breast. For the last time, next
morning he rode down to Flitter Bill's store. On the way he met Parson
Kilburn and for the last time Mayhall Wells straightened his shoulders
and for one moment more resumed his part: perhaps the parson had not
heard of his fall.

"Good-mornin', parsing," he said, pleasantly. "Ah--where have you been?"
The parson was returning from Cumberland Gap, whither he had gone to
take the oath of allegiance.

"By the way, I have something here for you which Flitter Bill asked me
to give you. He said it was from the commandant at Cumberland Gap."

"Fer me?" asked the captain--hope springing anew in his heart. The
parson handed him a letter. Mayhall looked at it upside down.

"If you please, parsing," he said, handing it back, "I hev left my
specs at home."

The parson read that, whereas Captain Wells had been guilty of grave
misdemeanors while in command of the Army of the Callahan, he should be
arrested and court-martialled for the same, or be given the privilege of
leaving the county in twenty-four hours. Mayhall's face paled a little
and he stroked his beard.

"Ah--does anybody but you know about this ordah, parsing?"

"Nobody."

"Well, if you will do me the great favor, parsing, of not mentioning it
to nary a living soul--as fer me and my ole gray hoss and my household
furniture--we'll be in Kanetuck afore daybreak to-morrow mornin'!" And
he was.

But he rode on just then and presented himself for the last time at the
store of Flitter Bill. Bill was sitting on the stoop in his favorite
posture. And in a moment there stood before him plain Mayhall
Wells--holding out the order Bill had given the parson that day.

"Misto Richmond," he said, "I have come to tell you good-by."

Now just above the selfish layers of fat under Flitter Bill's chubby
hands was a very kind heart. When he saw Mayhall's old manner and heard
the old respectful way of address, and felt the dazed helplessness of
the big, beaten man, the heart thumped.

"I am sorry about that little amount I owe you; I think I'll be able
shortly--" But Bill cut him short. Mayhall Wells, beaten, disgraced,
driven from home on charge of petty crimes, of which he was undoubtedly
guilty, but for which Bill knew he himself was responsible--Mayhall on
his way into exile and still persuading himself and, at that moment,
almost persuading him that he meant to pay that little debt of long
ago--was too much for Flitter Bill, and he proceeded to lie--lying with
deliberation and pleasure.

"Captain Wells," he said--and the emphasis on the title was balm to
Mayhall's soul--"you have protected me in time of war, an' you air
welcome to yo' uniform an' you air welcome to that little debt. Yes," he
went on, reaching down into his pocket and pulling out a roll of bills,
"I tender you in payment for that same protection the regular pay of a
officer in the Confederate service"--and he handed out the army pay for
three months in Confederate greenbacks--"an' five dollars in money of
the United States, of which I an', doubtless, you, suh, air true and
loyal citizens. Captain Wells, I bid you good-by an' I wish ye well--I
wish ye well."

From the stoop of his store Bill watched the captain ride away,
drooping at the shoulders, and with his hands folded on the pommel of
his saddle--his dim blue eyes misty, the jaunty forage cap a mockery of
his iron-gray hair, and the flaps of his coat fanning either side like
mournful wings.

And Flitter Bill muttered to himself:

"Atter he's gone long enough fer these things to blow over, I'm going to
bring him back and give him another chance--yes, damme if I don't git
him back."

And Bill dropped his remorseful eye to the order in his hand. Like the
handwriting of the order that lifted Mayhall like magic into power, the
handwriting of this order, that dropped him like a stone--was Flitter
Bill's own.




THE PARDON OF BECKY DAY


The missionary was young and she was from the North. Her brows were
straight, her nose was rather high, and her eyes were clear and gray.
The upper lip of her little mouth was so short that the teeth just under
it were never quite concealed. It was the mouth of a child and it gave
the face, with all its strength and high purpose, a peculiar pathos that
no soul in that little mountain town had the power to see or feel. A
yellow mule was hitched to the rickety fence in front of her and she
stood on the stoop of a little white frame-house with an elm switch
between her teeth and gloves on her hands, which were white and looked
strong. The mule wore a man's saddle, but no matter--the streets were
full of yellow pools, the mud was ankle-deep, and she was on her way to
the sick-bed of Becky Day.

There was a flood that morning. All the preceding day the rains had
drenched the high slopes unceasingly. That night, the rain-clear forks
of the Kentucky got yellow and rose high, and now they crashed together
around the town and, after a heaving conflict, started the river on one
quivering, majestic sweep to the sea.

Nobody gave heed that the girl rode a mule or that the saddle was not
her own, and both facts she herself quickly forgot. This half log, half
frame house on a corner had stood a siege once. She could yet see bullet
holes about the door. Through this window, a revenue officer from the
Blue Grass had got a bullet in the shoulder from a garden in the rear.
Standing in the post-office door only just one month before, she herself
had seen children scurrying like rabbits through the back-yard fences,
men running silently here and there, men dodging into doorways, fire
flashing in the street and from every house--and not a sound but the
crack of pistol and Winchester; for the mountain men deal death in all
the terrible silence of death. And now a preacher with a long scar
across his forehead had come to the one little church in the place and
the fervor of religion was struggling with feudal hate for possession of
the town. To the girl, who saw a symbol in every mood of the earth, the
passions of these primitive people were like the treacherous streams of
the uplands--now quiet as sunny skies and now clashing together with but
little less fury and with much more noise. And the roar of the flood
above the wind that late afternoon was the wrath of the Father, that
with the peace of the Son so long on earth, such things still could be.
Once more trouble was threatening and that day even she knew that
trouble might come, but she rode without fear, for she went when and
where she pleased as any woman can, throughout the Cumberland, without
insult or harm.

At the end of the street were two houses that seemed to front each other
with unmistakable enmity. In them were two men who had wounded each
other only the day before, and who that day would lead the factions, if
the old feud broke loose again. One house was close to the frothing hem
of the flood--a log-hut with a shed of rough boards for a kitchen--the
home of Becky Day.

The other was across the way and was framed and smartly painted. On the
steps sat a woman with her head bare and her hands under her
apron--widow of the Marcum whose death from a bullet one month before
had broken the long truce of the feud. A groaning curse was growled from
the window as the girl drew near, and she knew it came from a wounded
Marcum who had lately come back from the West to avenge his brother's
death.

"Why don't you go over to see your neighbor?" The girl's clear eyes gave
no hint that she knew--as she well did--the trouble between the houses,
and the widow stared in sheer amazement, for mountaineers do not talk
with strangers of the quarrels between them.

"I have nothin' to do with such as her," she said, sullenly; "she ain't
the kind--"

"Don't!" said the girl, with a flush, "she's dying."

"_Dyin?_"

"Yes." With the word the girl sprang from the mule and threw the reins
over the pale of the fence in front of the log-hut across the way. In
the doorway she turned as though she would speak to the woman on the
steps again, but a tall man with a black beard appeared in the low door
of the kitchen-shed.

"How is your--how is Mrs. Day?"

"Mighty puny this mornin'--Becky is."

The girl slipped into the dark room. On a disordered, pillowless bed lay
a white face with eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Near the bed was
a low wood fire. On the hearth were several thick cups filled with herbs
and heavy fluids and covered with tarpaulin, for Becky's "man" was a
teamster. With a few touches of the girl's quick hands, the covers of
the bed were smooth, and the woman's eyes rested on the girl's own
cloak. With her own handkerchief she brushed the death-damp from the
forehead that already seemed growing cold. At her first touch, the
woman's eyelids opened and dropped together again. Her lips moved, but
no sound came from them.

In a moment the ashes disappeared, the hearth was clean and the fire was
blazing. Every time the girl passed the window she saw the widow across
the way staring hard at the hut. When she took the ashes into the
street, the woman spoke to her.

"I can't go to see Becky--she hates me."

"With good reason."

The answer came with a clear sharpness that made the widow start and
redden angrily; but the girl walked straight to the gate, her eyes
ablaze with all the courage that the mountain woman knew and yet with
another courage to which the primitive creature was a stranger--a
courage that made the widow lower her own eyes and twist her hands under
her apron.

"I want you to come and ask Becky to forgive you."

The woman stared and laughed.

"Forgive me? Becky forgive me? She wouldn't--an' I don't want her--" She
could not look up into the girl's eyes; but she pulled a pipe from under
the apron, laid it down with a trembling hand and began to rock
slightly.

The girl leaned across the gate.

"Look at me!" she said, sharply. The woman raised her eyes, swerved
them once, and then in spite of herself, held them steady.

"Listen! Do you want a dying woman's curse?"

It was a straight thrust to the core of a superstitious heart and a
spasm of terror crossed the woman's face. She began to wring her hands.

"Come on!" said the girl, sternly, and turned, without looking back,
until she reached the door of the hut, where she beckoned and stood
waiting, while the woman started slowly and helplessly from the steps,
still wringing her hands. Inside, behind her, the wounded Marcum, who
had been listening, raised himself on one elbow and looked after her
through the window.

"She can't come in--not while I'm in here."

The girl turned quickly. It was Dave Day, the teamster, in the kitchen
door, and his face looked blacker than his beard.

"Oh!" she said, simply, as though hurt, and then with a dignity that
surprised her, the teamster turned and strode towards the back door.

"But I can git out, I reckon," he said, and he never looked at the widow
who had stopped, frightened, at the gate.

"Oh, I can't--I _can't!_" she said, and her voice broke; but the girl
gently pushed her to the door, where she stopped again, leaning against
the lintel. Across the way, the wounded Marcum, with a scowl of wonder,
crawled out of his bed and started painfully to the door. The girl saw
him and her heart beat fast.

Inside, Becky lay with closed eyes. She stirred uneasily, as though she
felt some hated presence, but her eyes stayed fast, for the presence of
Death in the room was stronger still.

"Becky!" At the broken cry, Becky's eyes flashed wide and fire broke
through the haze that had gathered in them.

"I want ye ter fergive me, Becky."

The eyes burned steadily for a long time. For two days she had not
spoken, but her voice came now, as though from the grave.

"You!" she said, and, again, with torturing scorn, "You!" And then she
smiled, for she knew why her enemy was there, and her hour of triumph
was come. The girl moved swiftly to the window--she could see the
wounded Marcum slowly crossing the street, pistol in hand.

"What'd I ever do to you?"

"Nothin', Becky, nothin'."

Becky laughed harshly. "You can tell the truth--can't ye--to a dyin'
woman?"

"Fergive me, Becky!"

A scowling face, tortured with pain, was thrust into the window.

"Sh-h!" whispered the girl, imperiously, and the man lifted his heavy
eyes, dropped one elbow on the window-sill and waited.

"You tuk Jim from me!"

The widow covered her face with her hands, and the Marcum at the
window--brother to Jim, who was dead--lowered at her, listening keenly.

"An' you got him by lyin' 'bout me. You tuk him by lyin' 'bout
me--didn't ye? Didn't ye?" she repeated, fiercely, and her voice would
have wrung the truth from a stone.

"Yes--Becky--yes!"

"You hear?" cried Becky, turning her eyes to the girl.

"You made him believe an' made ever'body, you could, believe that I
was--was _bad_" Her breath got short, but the terrible arraignment went
on.

"You started this war. My brother wouldn't 'a' shot Jim Marcum if it
hadn't been fer you. You killed Jim--your own husband--an' you killed
_me_. An' now you want me to fergive you--you!" She raised her right
hand as though with it she would hurl the curse behind her lips, and the
widow, with a cry, sprang for the bony fingers, catching them in her own
hand and falling over on her knees at the bedside.

"Don't, Becky, don't--don't--_don't!_"

There was a slight rustle at the back window. At the other, a pistol
flashed into sight and dropped again below the sill. Turning, the girl
saw Dave's bushy black head--he, too, with one elbow on the sill and the
other hand out of sight.

"Shame!" she said, looking from one to the other of the two men, who had
learned, at last, the bottom truth of the feud; and then she caught the
sick woman's other hand and spoke quickly.

"Hush, Becky," she said; and at the touch of her hand and the sound of
her voice, Becky looked confusedly at her and let her upraised hand sink
back to the bed. The widow stared swiftly from Jim's brother, at one
window, to Dave Day at the other, and hid her face on her arms.

"Remember, Becky--how can you expect forgiveness in another world,
unless you forgive in this?"

The woman's brow knitted and she lay quiet. Like the widow who held her
hand, the dying woman believed, with never the shadow of a doubt, that
somewhere above the stars, a living God reigned in a heaven of