Part 10 (1/2)

She listens, looks about again, and then, going up to the little gla.s.s tacked beside the fire-place, carefully arranges her splendid hair that droops down over her shoulders in the careless, perfect fas.h.i.+on of Evangeline.

”Heaven help any one who is out in this storm to-night!”

Then she takes another stick from the corner and places it on the fire.

”Forty-nine will be here soon, and Johnny; Johnny with news about him--about poor John Logan.”

She shakes her head and clasps her hands.

”It is nearly half a year since that night. They can't take him--they dare not take him. They are hunting him--hunting him in this storm--hunting him as if he were a wild beast. He hides with the cattle in the sheds, with the very hogs in their pens. They come upon him there; he starts from his sleep and dashes away, while they follow, and track him by the blood of his feet in the snow. Oh, how terrible it is!

I must not think of it; I will go mad.”

She turns to the door and listens. She draws back the ragged curtains from the window and tries to look out into the storm. She can hear and see nothing, and she walks back again to the fire. ”I must set them their supper.” As she says this, she goes to a little cupboard and takes a piece of bread, puts it on a plate and sets it on the table. Then she places two plates and two cups of water. ”They will be here soon, and they must have their suppers. Oh, that grocery!” She shudders as she says this. ”And Johnny will bring me news of him--of John Logan. What's that?”

She springs to the door, lifts the latch, and Stumps steals in, brus.h.i.+ng the snow from his neck and shoulders. He has a club in his hand, and looks back and about him as he shuts the door.

”Oh, sister, its awful! I tell you its too awful!”

”Brother--brother! What has happened? What is awful? What is it, Johnny? And he, John Logan?”

”He's been there!” The boy s.h.i.+vers and points in a half-frightened manner toward the little hill. ”Yes, he has; he's been up on the hill by his mother's grave; and he's been to 'Squire Field's house--yes, he has; and he couldn't get in, for they had a big dog tied to the gate, and now they have got another dog tied to the gate. Yes, and they tracked him all around by the blood in the snow!”

”Oh brother! don't, don't!”

”Don't be afraid, sister; he has gone away now. Oh, if he would only go away and stay away--far away, and they couldn't catch him, I'd be just as glad as I could be! Yes, I would; so help me, I would.”

”And he has been up there, and in this storm!”

She speaks this to herself, as she goes to the window and attempts to look out.

”Poor, poor John Logan!” sighs the boy. ”I wish his mother was alive; I do, so help me. She was a good woman, she was; she didn't sick Bose on me, she didn't.”

As the boy says this he stands his club in the corner, and looks with his sister for a moment sadly into the fire, and then suddenly says:

”I'm hungry. Sister, ain't you got something to eat. Forty-nine, he's down to the grocery, and Phin Emens he's down to the grocery, too, and he swears awfully about John Logan, and he says it's the Injun that's in him that makes him so bad. Do you think it's the Injun that's in him, sister?”

As the boy says this, the girl turns silently to the little table and pushes it toward him.

”There, Johnny, that's all there is. You must leave some for Forty-nine.”

”Poor, poor John Logan!”

He eats greedily for a moment, then stops suddenly and looks into the fire.

Carrie, also looking into the fire, murmurs:

”And Sylvia Fields let them tie a dog there to keep him away! I would have killed that dog first. If John Logan should come here, I would open that door--I would open that door to him!”--There is a dark and terrified face at the window--”And I would give him bread to eat, and let him sit by this fire and get warm!”

”And I would, too--so help me, I would!” The boy pushes back his bread, and rises and goes up to his sister. ”Yes, I would. I don't care what Phin Emens, or anybody says; for his mother didn't sick 'Bose' at me, she didn't!”

The pale and pitiful face at the window begins to brighten. There is snow in the long matted black locks that fall to his shoulders. For nearly half a year this man has fled from his fellow-man, a hunted grizzly, a hunted tiger of the jungle.