iritual or bodily comfort--not even the comfort
of death! Ah, you should see them--_once_! Once would be enough! And no
physician, nobody that knows, I tell you--nobody through the long,
dusty, stifling summers--nobody through the lengthening bitterness of
the black winters--nobody except myself. Mr. Burleson, old man Storm
died craving a taste of broth; and Abe Storm trapped a partridge for
him, and Rolfe caught him and Grier jailed him--and confiscated the
miserable, half-plucked bird!"

The hand which supported her weight was clinched; she was not looking at
the man beside her, but his eyes never left hers.

"You talk angrily of market hunting, and the law forbids it. You say you
can respect a poacher who shoots for the love of it, but you have only
contempt for the market hunter. And you are right sometimes--" She
looked him in the eyes. "Old Santry's little girl is bedridden. Santry
shot and sold a deer--and bought his child a patent bed. She sleeps
almost a whole hour now without much pain."

Burleson, eyes fixed on her, did not stir. The fire-warden leaned
forward, picked up the belt, and read the name scratched with a
hunting-knife on the brass buckle.

"Before Grier came," she said, thoughtfully, "there was misery enough
here--cold, hunger, disease--oh, plenty of disease always. Their
starved lands of sand and rock gave them a little return for
heart-breaking labor, but not enough. Their rifles helped them to keep
alive; timber was free; they existed. Then suddenly forest, game, vlaie,
and lake were taken from them--fenced off, closed to these people whose
fathers' fathers had established free thoroughfare where posted warnings
and shot-gun patrols now block every trodden trail! What is the sure
result?--and Grier was brutal! What could be expected? Why, Mr.
Burleson, these people are Americans!--dwarfed mentally, stunted
morally, year by year reverting to primal type--yet the fire in their
blood set their grandfathers marching on Saratoga!--marching to
accomplish the destruction of all kings! And Grier drove down here with
a coachman and footman in livery and furs, and summoned the constable
from Brier Bridge, and arrested old man Santry at his child's
bedside--the new bed paid for with Grier's buck...."

She paused; then, with a long breath, she straightened up and leaned
back once more against the tree.

"They are not born criminals," she said. "See what you can do with
them--see what you can do for t