"Then you never keered," he cried with rising passion, "an’ that half-way promise ter marry me was jest a lie ter fool me—nothin’ but a lie, I’ll make it if I please," bringing his down on the bench with a fierce blow. "An’ hide in the caves like a wild creetur, when the raiders air out on mountains?" she scornfully exclaimed. [Illustration: GABE AND S’PHIRY ANN.] His sunburned face flushed a dull red, he writhed under the cruel question. "They ain’t apt ter git me, that’s certain," he muttered. "You don’t know that," more gently. "Think o’ Al Hendries an’ them Fletcher boys. They thought themselves too smart for the officers, but they wasn’t. You know how they was caught arter lyin’ out for weeks, a-takin’ sleet an’ rain an’ all but starvin’, an’ tuk ter Atlanty an’ put in jail, an’ thar they staid a-pinin’. I staid ’long er Al’s wife them days, for she was that skeery she hated ter see night come, an’ I ain’t forgot how she walked the floor a-wringin’ her hands, or settin’ bent over the fire a-dippin’ snuff or a-smokin’—’twas all the comfort she had—an’ the chilluns axin’ for their pap, an’ she not a-knowin’ if he’d ever git back. Oh! ’twas turrible lonesome—-plum’ heart-breakin’ to the poor creetur. Then one day, ’long in the spring, Al crep’ in, all broke down an’ no ’count. The life gave outen him, an’ for a while he sot roun’ an’ tried ter pick up, but the cold an’ the jail had their way, an’ he died." She poured out the brief but tragic story breathlessly, then paused, looked down, and then up again. "Gabe, I sez ter myself then, ’None o’ that in your’n, S’phiry Ann, none o’ that in your’n.’" She raised the bucket and threw its contents into a tub. Gabe Plummer cast fiery glances at her, the spirit and firmness she displayed commanding his admiration, even while they filled him with rage against her. Yes, he knew Al Hendries’s story; he distinctly remembered the fury of resentment his fate roused among his comrades, the threats breathed against the law, but he held himself superior to that unfortunate fellow, gifted with keener wits, a more subtile wariness. The stand S’phiry Ann had taken against him roused bitter resentment in his soul, but the fact that he loved her so strongly made him loath to leave her. A happy dream of one day having her in his home, pervading it with the sweetness of her presence, had been his close and faithful companion for years, comforting his lonely winter nights when the wind tore wildly over the mountains, and the rain beat upon his cabin roof, or giving additional glory to languorous summer noons, when the cloud-shadows seemed to lie motionless on the distant heights, and the sluggish river fed moisture to the heated valley. What right had she to spoil this dream before it had become a reality? He could not trust himself to argue the matter with her then, but abruptly rose to his feet.