"How-de?" he said. Finally his gaze shifted to Nella-Rose and seemed to burn into her soul.

"Goin', p'r'aps, or--comin'?" he questioned.

"I--I am--going!" Fright and dismay marked the girl's voice. Truedale went toward her. The covert brutality in White's words shocked and angered him. He gave no thought to the cause, but he resented the insult.

"Wait!" he commanded, for Nella-Rose was gone through the open door.

"Wait!"

Seeing that she had for the moment escaped him, Truedale turned to White and confronted him with clear, angry eyes.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" he demanded fiercely.

The shock had been tremendous for Jim. Three weeks previously he had left his charge safe and alone; he had come back and found--But shock always stiffened Jim White; that was one reason for his success in life.

He was never so inflexible and deadly self-possessed as he was when he could not see the next step ahead.

"Gawd, but I'm tired!" he said, when he had stared at Truedale as long as he cared to, "I'm going over to my place to turn in. Seems like I'll sleep for a month once I get started."

"You don't go, White, until you explain what you meant by--"

But Truedale mistook his man. Jim, having drawn his own conclusion, laughed and strode toward the door.

"I go when I'm d.a.m.ned pleased ter go!" he flung out derisively, "and I come the same way, young feller. There's mail for yo' in the sack and--a telegram." White paused by the door a moment while Truedale picked the yellow envelope from the bag and tore it open.

"Your uncle died suddenly on the 16th. Come at once. Vitally important. McPHERSON."

For a moment both men forgot the thing that had driven them wide apart.

"Bad news?" asked the sheriff.

Something was happening to Truedale--he felt as if the effect of some narcotic were losing its power; the fevered unreality was giving place to sensation but the brain was recording it dully.

"What date is this?" he asked, dazed.

"Twenty-fifth," Jim replied as he moved out of the door.

"When can I get a train from the station?"

"There's one as leaves anywhere 'twixt nine and ten ter-night."

"That gives me time to pack. See here, White, while it isn't any of your business, I want to explain a thing or two--before I go. I'll be back as soon as I can--in a week or ten days at furthest. When I return I intend to stay on, probably for the rest of my life."

White still held Truedale by the cold, steely gleam of his eyes which was driving lucidity home to the dulled brain. By a power as unyielding as death Jim was destroying the screen Truedale had managed to raise against the homely codes of life and was leaving his guest naked and exposed.

The shock of the telegram--the pause it evolved--had given Truedale time to catch the meaning of White's att.i.tude; now that he realized it, he knew he must lay certain facts open--he could not wait until his return.

Presently Jim spoke from outside the door.

"I ain't settin' up for no critic. I ain't by nater a weigher or trimmer and I don't care a durn for what ain't my business. When I _see_ my business I settle it in my own way!"--there was almost a warning in this. "I'm dead tired, root and branch. I'm goin' ter take a bite an'

turn in. I may sleep a couple o' days; put off yo' 'splainifyin' 'til yo' come back ter end yo' days. Take the mare an' leave her by the trail; she'll come home. Tell old Doc McPherson I was askin' arter him."

By that time Jim had ceased scorching his way to Truedale's soul and was on the path to his own cabin.

"Looks like yo' had a tussle with the storm," he remarked. "Any livin'

thing killed?"

"No."

"Thank yo'!" Then, as if determined not to share any further confidence, White strode on.

For a moment Truedale stood and stared after his host in impotent rage.

Was Jim White such a lily of purity that he presumed to take that att.i.tude? Was the code of the hills that of the Romany gypsies? How dare any man judge and sentence another without trial?

The effect of the narcotic still worked sluggishly, now that White's irritating presence was removed. Truedale shrugged his shoulders and turned to his packing. He was feverishly eager to get to Nella-Rose.

Before nightfall she would be his before the world; in two weeks he would be back; the future would shame White and bring him to his senses.

Jim had a soft heart; he was just, in his brutal fashion. When he understood how matters were, he would feel like the fool he was--a fool willing to cast a man off, unheard! But Truedale blamed himself for the hesitation that meant so much. The telegram--his fear of making a wrong step--had caused the grave mistake that could not be righted now.

At two o'clock Truedale started--on Jim's mare! White's cabin had all the appearance of being barred against intrusion. Truedale did not mean to test this, but it hurt him like a blow. However, there was nothing to do but remedy, as soon as possible, the error he had permitted to arise.

No man on earth could make Nella-Rose more his than his love and good faith had made her, still he was eager now to resort to all the time-honoured safeguards before he left. Once married he would go with a heart almost light. He would confide everything to Kendall and Lynda--at least he would his marriage--and urge them to return with him to the hills, and after that White and all the others would have an awakening.

The possibility thus conceived was like a flood of light and sweet air in a place dark and bewildering but not evil--no, not that!

As he turned from the clearing Truedale looked back at his cabin.

Nella-Rose seemed still there. She would always be part of it just as she was now part of his life. He would try and buy the cabin--it would be sacrilege for others to enter!

So he hurried the mare on, hoping to be at the crossing before Nella-Rose.

The crisp autumn air was redolent of pines and the significance of summer long past. It had a physical and spiritual power.

Then turning suddenly from the trail, Truedale saw Nella-Rose sitting on a rock--waiting! She had on a rough, mannish-looking coat, and a coa.r.s.e, red hood covered her bright head. Nella-Rose was garbed in winter attire. She had worn this outfit for five years and it looked it.

Never again was Truedale to see a face of such radiant joy and trust as the girl turned upon him. Her eyes were wide and filled with a light that startled him. He jumped from the horse and took her in his arms.

"What is it?" he asked, fearing some intangible danger.

"The minister was killed by the flood!" Nella-Rose's tones were thrilling. "He was going through Devil-may-come Hollow and a mighty big rock struck him and--he's dead!"

"Then you must come with me, Nella-Rose." Truedale set his lips grimly; there was no time to lose. Between three and nine o'clock surely they could locate a minister or a justice of the peace. "Come!"

"But why, Mister Man?" She laughed up at him. "Where?"

"It doesn't matter. To New York if necessary. Jump up!" He turned to the horse, holding the girl close.

"Me go away--in this? Me shame you before--them-all?"

Nella-Rose stood her ground and throwing the rough coat back displayed her shabby, shrunken dress.

"I went home--they-all were away. I got my warm things, but I have a white dress and a pink ribbon--I'll get them to-morrow. Then--But why must we go--away?"

For the first time this thought caught her--she had been whirled along too rapidly before to note it.