Part 22 (1/2)

Lawson married her at the first stopping place over the ridge. He ain't worthy o' my lil' Nella-Rose--but us-all has got to make the best o'

it. Come spring--she'll be back, and then--I'll forgive her--my lil'

Nella-Rose!”

From the intensity of his emotions Greyson trembled and the weak tears ran down his lined face. Taking advantage of the tense moment Truedale asked desperately:

”Will you show me that letter, Mr. Greyson?”

So direct was the request, so apparently natural to the old man's unguarded suffering, that it drove superficialities before it and merely confirmed Greyson in his determination to save Nella-Rose's reputation at any cost. Ignoring the unwarrantable curiosity, alert to the necessity of quick defense, he said:

”I can't. I wish to Gawd I could and then I could stop any tongue what dares to tech my lil' gal's name.”

”Why can you not show me the letter?” Truedale was towering above the old man. By some unknown power he had got control of the situation. ”I have a reason for--asking this, Mr. Greyson.”

”Marg burned it! It was allus Marg or lil' Nella-Rose for Lawson, and Nella-Rose got him! When Marg knew this fur certain, there was no length to which she--didn't go! This is my home, sir; I'm old--Marg is a good girl and the trouble is past now; her and Jed is making me comfortable, but we-all don't mention Nella-Rose. It eases me, though, to tell the truth for lil' Nella-Rose. I know how the tongues are wagging and I have to sit still fo'--since Marg and Jed took up with each other--my future lies 'long o' them. I'm an old man and mighty dependent; time was when--” Greyson rose unsteadily and swayed toward the fireplace.

”Gawd a'mighty!” he flung out desperately, ”how I want--whisky!”

Truedale saw the wildness in the old man's eyes--saw the trembling and twitching of the outstretched hands, and feared what might be the result of trouble and enforced sobriety. He pulled a large flask from his pocket and offered it.

”Here!” he said, ”take a swallow of this and pull yourself together.”

Greyson, with a cry, seized the liquor and drained every drop before Truedale could control him.

”G.o.d bless yo'!” whined Greyson, sinking back into his chair, ”bless and--and keep yo'!”

Truedale dared not leave the house though his soul recoiled from the sight before him. He waited an hour, watching the effect of the stimulant. Greyson grew mellow after a time--at peace with the world; he smiled foolishly and became maudlinly familiar. Finally, Truedale approached him again. He bent over him and shook him sharply.

”Did you tell me--the truth--about--Nella-Rose?” he whispered to the sagging, blear-eyed creature.

”Yes, sir!” moaned Peter, ”I sho' did!”

And Truedale did not reflect that when Greyson was-drunk--he lied!

Truedale never recalled clearly how he spent the hours between the time he left Greyson's until he knocked on the door of White's cabin; but it was broad daylight and bitingly cold when Jim flung the door open and looked at the stranger with no idea, for a moment, that he had ever seen him before. Then, putting his hand out wonderingly, he muttered:

”Gawd!” and drew Truedale in. Breakfast was spread on the table; the dogs lay before the blazing fire.

”Eat!” commanded Jim, ”and keep yer jaws shet except to put in food.”

Conning attempted the feat but made a pitiful showing.

”Come to stay on?”

White's curiosity was betraying him and the sympathy in his eyes filled Truedale with a mad desire to take this ”G.o.d's man” into his confidence.

”No, Jim. I've come to pack and go back to--to my job!”

”Gos.h.!.+ it can't be much of a job if you can tackle it--lookin' like what you do!”