"You've seen me; you'll
tell you seen me. Why shouldn't I kill you? You'd only tell."
"Why? What have I done to you?" she managed to stammer. "Why should
you object to being seen?"
It was an unfortunate demand. He sprang up with a snarl. Pointing
the revolver from his hip, he drew back the hammer.
"_Don't_!" she shrieked. "Are you crazy? Don't you know how to treat
a woman--in distress?"
"Distress, _hell_! You know who I be. And I don't care whether
you're a woman or not, I ain't goin' to be took--you understand?"
"Certainly I understand."
She said it in such a way that he eased the hammer back into place
and lowered the gun. For the moment again she was safe. In response
to her terrible need, some of her latent Yankee courage came now to
aid her. "I don't see what you're making all this rumpus about," she
told him in as indifferent a voice as she could command. "I don't
see why you should want to kill a friend who might help you--if
you're really in need of help."
"I want to get to Partridgeville," he muttered after a moment.
"You're not far from there. How long have you been on the road?"
"None of your business."
"Have you had any food?"
"No."
"If you'll put up that gun and let me get off this snowshoe and pack,
I'll share with you some of the food I have.
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