Then she looked up at him.
There was a grave smile on his face.
"I reckon you'll shake hands with me," he said, "just to show that you
ain't holdin' much against me. Well, that right," he said when she
hesitated; "I don't deserve it."
Her hand went out; he looked at it, with a start, and then seized it
quickly in both of his, squeezed it hard, his eyes aflame. He dropped
it as quickly, and turned to the door, saying: "You're a brave little
girl."
She stood silent until his hands were on the fastenings of the door.
"Wait!" she said. She attempted to smile, but some emotion stiffened
her lips, stifling it. "You haven't had your supper," she said; "won't
you eat if I get it ready?"
"No time," he said. "The law don't advertise its movements, as a usual
thing, an' Toban's liable to be here any minute. An'," he added, a
glint of the old hardness in his eyes, "I ain't lettin' him take me.
It's only twenty miles to the line, an' the way I'm intendin' to travel
I'll be over it before Toban can ketch me. I don't want him to ketch
me--he was a friend of my dad's, an' puttin' him out of business
wouldn't help me none."
"Will you be safe, then?" she asked fearfully.
"I reckon. But I won't be stoppin' at the line. I'm through here;
there's nothin' here to hold me. I reckon I'll never come back this
way.
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