"I clean forgot," she said, and when he had left, she turned to her friend. "Azalie--don't say anything to Hoke about me--us. Did Aunt Sally see? You know I didn't know myself until I woke and found myself there.

I'd been trying to make him take a little whiskey--and--I must have gone asleep like I was--and he woke up and must 'a' felt like he had to kiss somebody--he was that glad to be alive."

"Nevah you fret, child." Azalea smiled a quiet smile. "I'm not one to talk; anyway, I reckon Doctah Thryng's about right. He sure have been good to me."

The widow sat on her little stoop, waiting and watching, as her daughter rode to the door and wearily alighted.

"Ca.s.sandry Merlin! For the Lord's sake! What-all is up now? Hoyle--where is that boy?--Hoyle, come here an' take the horse fer sister. Be ye most dade, honey? I reckon ye be. Ye look like hit."

Ca.s.sandra kissed her mother and pa.s.sed on into the house. "I couldn't send you word last night; anyway, I reckoned you'd rest better if you didn't know, for we-all thought Doctor Thryng was sure killed. Did Hoke tell you this morning?"

"I 'lowed you was stoppin' with Azalie--'at baby was sick or somethin'--when Hoyle went up to the cabin an' said doctah wa'n't there.

Frale sure have done for hisself. I reckon you are cl'ar shet o' him now, an' I'm glad ye be, since he done took to the idee o' marryin' with you. What-all have he done the doctah this-a-way fer? The' wa'n't nothin' 'twixt him an' doctah. Pore fool boy he! I'll be glad fer yuer sake, Ca.s.s, if he'll quit these here mountains."

"Oh, mother, mother! Don't talk about me, don't think of me! The doctor's nigh about killed--let alone the sin Frale has on him now."

Wearied beyond further endurance, she flung herself on her bed and broke into uncontrollable sobbing, while Hoyle stood in the middle of the room and gazed with wide-eyed wonder.

"Be the doctah dade, maw?" he asked, in an awed whisper.

"No, child, no. You fetch a leetle light ud an' chips, an' we'll make her some coffee. Sister's that tired, pore child! Have ye been up all night, Ca.s.s?"

She nodded her head and still sobbed on.

"He's gettin' on all right now, be he?"

Again she nodded, but did not take her hands from her face.

"Then you'd ought to be glad. Hit ain't like Frale had of killed him.

Farwell, he had many a time sech as that with one an' another, an' he nevah come to no harm f'om hit. I reckon Frale'll be safe. Be ye cryin'

fer him, Ca.s.s? Pore child! I nevah did think you keered fer Frale that-a-way."

Then Ca.s.sandra burst forth with impetuous fire. "Oh, mother, mother!

Never say that name to me again. Mother, I saw them! I saw them fighting--and all the time the doctor was bleeding--bleeding and dying, where Frale had shot him. I don't know how long they'd been fighting, but I came there and I saw them. I saw him slip and how Frale crushed him down--down--and his head struck the rock. I saw--and I almost cursed Frale. I hope I didn't--oh, I hope not! But mother, mother! Don't ask me anything more now. Oh, I want to cry! I want to cry and never stop."

While she lay thus weeping, the soft rain that had been threatening all day began pattering down, blessed and soothing, the rain to the earth and the tears to the girl.

In spite of the rain, Thryng was carried home that afternoon according to the physician's orders, and placed in his cabin with Aunt Sally to stand guard over him and provide for his wants. A bed was improvised for her on the floor of the cabin, while David lay in his own bed in his canvas room, bandaged about both body and head, and withal moderately comfortable, sufficiently himself to realize what had occurred, and overjoyed because of the reward his wounds had brought him.

Doctor Bartlett came down to the Fall Place and was given the bed in the loom shed as David had been, and had the pleasure of again seeing Ca.s.sandra, who, her tears dried, and her manner composed, looked after his needs as if no storms had ever shaken her soul.

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH DAVID SENDS HOKE BELEW ON A COMMISSION, AND Ca.s.sANDRA MAKES A CONFESSION

Early one morning Hoke Belew put his head in at the door of Thryng's cabin, where Aunt Sally was squatted before the fireplace, preparing breakfast for the patient.

"How's doc?" he asked.

"He's right fa'r. He mount be worse an' he mount be bettah."

"You reckon I mount go in yandah whar he is at?"

"Ye can look an' see is he awake. I'm gittin' his hot bread an' coffee.

You bettah bide an' have a leetle," she said, with ever ready hospitality.

He crossed the floor with careful steps and paused in the doorway of the canvas room, big and smiling.

"That you, Hoke? Come in," said David, cheerfully. He extended a hand which Hoke took in his and held awkwardly, shocked at the white face before him.

"Ye do look puny," he said at last. "But we-uns sure be glad yer livin'.

Ye tol' me to come early, so I come."

"It's awfully good of you. Bring a chair and sit near, so we can talk a bit. Now, Hoke, laid up here as I am, I need your help. I want to send you to Farington or Lone Pine--somewhere--I don't know where such things are to be had--but, Hoke, you've been married and know all about what's needed here."

"Ye want me to git ye a license, I reckon," said Hoke, grinning, "an' ye mount send me a errant I'd like a heap worse--that's so; but what good will hit be to ye now? You can't stan' on your feet."

"I can put it under my pillow and keep it to get well on. See here, Hoke. I don't even know if she'll marry me; she has not said so, but I'll be ready. You'll keep this quiet for me, Hoke? Because it would trouble her if the whole mountain side should know what I have done before she does. Yet a girl like Ca.s.sandra is worth winning if you have to go to the edge of the grave to do it, so whenever she will have me, I want to be ready."

They talked in low tones, Hoke leaning forward close to David, his elbows on his knees. "I reckon you are a-thinkin' to bide on here 'long o' we-uns an' not carry her off nowhar else?" he asked gravely.

David's paleness left him for a moment, as the warm tide swept upward from his heart. "My home is not in this country, and wherever a man goes, he expects to take his wife with him. Don't you people here in the mountains do the same?"

"I reckon so, but hit would nigh about kill Azalie if she war to lose Ca.s.s. They have been frien's evah sence they war littlin's."

"Hoke, if you were to find it necessary to go away anywhere, would you leave your wife behind to please Ca.s.sandra Merlin?" The man was silent, and David continued. "Before you were married if you had known there was another man, and a criminal at that, hanging around determined to get her, wouldn't you have married her out of hand as soon as you could get her consent? It's my opinion, knowing the sort of man you are, that you would."

"I sure would."

"Then you can understand why I wish to have a marriage license under my pillow."

"I reckon so--but--you--you-all hain't quite our kind--not bein' kin to none of us-- You understand me, suh. We-uns are a proud people here, an'

we think a heap o' our women. Hit would be right hard should you git sorter tired o' Ca.s.sandry when you come to git her amongst your people--bein' she hain't like none o' your folks, understand; an'

Ca.s.sandry, she's sorter hard hit jest now, she don't rightly know what-all she do think. Me an' Azalie, we been speakin' right smart together--an'--well, we do sure think a heap o' you, Doc--an' hit ain't no disrespect to you-uns, neither. Have you said anything to her maw?"

"Not a word. When I learned another man was before me, I stood one side as an honorable man should and gave him his chance. But when it comes to being attacked by the other man and shot in the back-- by heaven! no power on earth will hold me from trying to win her. As for the other matter, never you fear. Be my friend, Hoke."

"Waal, I reckon you'll have yer own way, an' I mount as well git hit fer ye, but I did promise Azalie 'at I'd speak that word to ye," said the young man, rising with an air of relief.

"Tell your wife that you are both of you quite right, and that I am right also. Just hunt up my trousers, will you? I want my pocket-book.

If I have to sign anything before anybody--bring him here. I don't care what you do, so you get it. There, on that card you have it all--my full name and all that, you know."

David tried to eat what Sally prepared for him, using his unbound hand; but his egg was hard, his coffee thick and boiled. He could not drink it very well for his head was too low, and he could not raise himself, so he lay silent and uncomfortable, watching her move about his rooms, wearing her great black sunbonnet. She appeared kindly and pleasant when he could see her face, which was thin and very much lined, but motherly and good. He fell in the way of calling her "Aunt Sally" as others did, and this seemed to please her. She treated him as if he were a big boy who did not know what was good for himself. She called all the green blossoming things with which Ca.s.sandra had adorned the cabin, "trash,"

and asked who had "toted hit thar."