rliest grey of dawn she waked Nancy, bidding the elder woman fasten
the door after her. Declining in strangely subdued fashion her hostess's
offer of hot coffee, she stepped noiselessly out and, with a swift look
about, dived into the steep short-cut trail which led almost straight
down the face of Big Turkey Track, from turn to turn of the main road.

A cloud clung to the Side; the foliage of only the foremost trees emerged
from its blur, and these were dimmed and flatted as though a soft white
veil were tangled among their leaves. Into this white mystery of dawn the
girl had vanished.

Nancy looked curiously after her a moment, then glanced swiftly about as
Huldah had done, her eyes dwelling long on Creed's little shack, standing
peaceful in the morning mists. Softly she turned back, and closed and
barred the door.

Chapter XII

In the Lion's Den

At seven o'clock, despite entreaties and warnings, Creed mounted his mule
and set out for the Turrentine place.

"Don't you trust nothin' nor nobody over thar," Nancy followed him out to
the gate to reiterate. "Old Jephthah Turrentine's as big a rascal as
they' is unhung. No--I wouldn't trust Judith neither (hush now, Little
Buck; you don't know what granny's a-talkin' about); she's apt to git
some fool gal's notion o' being jealous o' Huldy, or something like that,
and see you killed as cheerful as I'd wring a chicken's neck. (For the
Lord's sake, Doss, take these chil'en down to the spring branch; they
mighty nigh run me crazy with they' fussin' an' cryin'!) Don't you trust
none on 'em, boy."

"Why, Aunt Nancy, I trust everybody on that whole place, excepting
Blatchley Turrentine," said Creed sturdily. "Even Andy and Jeff, if I had
a chance to talk to them, could be got to see reason. They're not the
bloodthirsty crew you make them out. They're good folks."

She looked at him in exasperation, yet with a sort of reluctant approval
and admiration.

"Well," she sighed, as she saw him mount and start, "mebbe yo' safer
goin' right smack into the lion's den, like Dan'el, than you would be to
sneak up."

Summer was at full tide, and the world had been new washed last night.
Scents of mint and pennyroyal rose up under his mule's slow pacing feet.
The meadow that stretched beyond Nancy's cabin was a green sea, with
flower foam of white weed and dog-fennel; and the fence row was a long
breaker with surf of elder blossom, the garden a tangle of bean-vine
arbours.