on you. I kin feel hit an' see hit. Hit
ain't your fault, Cass. I'd put one on you myself, ef I could. Anyhow,
I'll take you out of this fer he have done hit."

"Do you never say that word to me again as long as you live, Frale," she
said sternly. "Listen at me, I say. You go back there and work like you
said you would--"

"Didn't I tell you that thar houn' dog Giles Teasley war on my scent? I
seen him. I got to come back ontwell I c'n git shet o' him."

"And that means another murder! Oh, Frale, Frale!" She covered her face
with her hands and moaned. Then they sat silent awhile.

After a little she lifted her head. "Frale, I'll go over to Teasleys'
and beg for them to leave you be. I'll beg Giles Teasley on my knees, I
will. Then when you have bided your year and kept your promise like you
swore before God, I'll marry you like I promised, and we'll live here
and keep the old place like it ought to be kept. You hear, Frale? Good
night, now. It's only fair you should give heed to me, Frale, if I do
that for you. Good night."

She glided past him into the house like a wraith, and he rose without a
word of reply and stretched himself on the half-made bed in the loom
shed, as he was. Sullen and angry, he lay far into the night with the
moonlight streaming over him, but he did not sleep, and his mood only
grew more bitter and dangerous.

When the first streak of dawn was drawn across the eastern sky, he rose
unrefreshed, and began a search, feeling along the rafters high above
the bags of cotton. Presently he drew forth an ancient, long-barrelled
rifle, and, taking it out into the light, examined it carefully. He
rubbed and cleaned the barrel and polished the stock and oiled the
hammer and trigger. Then he brought from the same hiding-place a horn of
powder and gun wadding, and at last took from his pocket the silver
bullet, with which he loaded his old weapon even as he had seen it
charged in past days by his father's hand.

Below the house, built over a clear welling spring which ran in a bright
little rivulet to the larger stream, was the spring-house. Here, after
the warm days came, the milk and butter were kept, and here Frale
sauntered down--his gun slung across his arm, his powder-horn at his
belt, in his old clothes--with his trousers thrust in his boot-tops--to
search for provisions for the day and his breakfast as well. He had no
mind to allow the family to oppose his action or reason him out of his
course.