k, nursing her child. She greeted him without
rising, and her eyes were downcast.

"I've come for justice, Nan," he said, without preface, seating himself
on the end of the step and flicking the dust from his leggings with his
riding-crop. "You know what they're saying about us--about you and me. I
want to know who to thank for it: what is the man's name?"

She did not reply at once, and when she lifted the dark eyes to his they
were full of suffering, like those of an animal under the lash.

"I nev' said hit was you," she averred, after a time.

"No; but you might as well. Everybody believes it, and you haven't
denied it. Who is the man?"

"I cayn't tell," she said simply.

"You mean you won't tell."

"No, I cayn't; I'm livin' on his money, Tom-Jeff."

"No, you are not. What makes you say that?"

"She told me I was."

"Who? Miss Dabney?"

Her nod was affirmative, and he went on: "Tell me just what she said;
word for word, if you can remember."

The answer came brokenly.

"I was ashamed--you don't believe hit, but hit's so. I allowed it was
_her_ money. When I made out like I'd run off, she said, 'No; it's his
money 'at's bein' spent for you, and you have a right to it.'"

Tom was silent for a time; then he said the other necessary word.

"She believes I am the man who wronged you, Nan. It was my money."

The woman half rose and then sat down again, rocking the child in her
arms.

"You're lyin' to me, Tom-Jeff Gordon. Hit's on'y a lie to make me tell!"
she panted.

"No, it's the truth. I was sorry for you and helped you because--well,
because of the old times. But everybody has misunderstood, even Miss
Dabney."

Silence again; the silence of the high mountain plateau and the
whispering pines. Then she asked softly:

"Was you aimin' to marry her, Tom-Jeff?"

His voice was somber. "I've never had the beginning of a chance; and
besides, she is promised to another man."

The woman was breathing hard again. "I heerd about that, too--jest the
other day. I don't believe hit!"

"It is true, just the same. But I didn't come out here to talk about
Miss Dabney. I want to know a name--the name of a man."

She shook her head again and relapsed into unresponsiveness.

"I cayn't tell; he'd shore kill me. He's always allowed he'd do hit if I
let on."

"Tell me his name, and I'll kill him before he ever gets a chance at
you," was the savage rejoinder.

"D'ye reckon you'd do that, Tom-Jeff--for me?"