“Now you're a-talkin' with a clear head an' a clean tongue.” Pole drew a breath of relief, and stood silent as Wade pulled his horse around, put his foot into the heavy, wooden stirrup, and mounted. Pole said nothing until Wade had slowly ridden several paces homeward, then he called out to him and beckoned him back, going to meet him, leading his horse. “I jest thought o' some'n' else, Jeff--some'n' I want to say fer myself. I reckon I won't sleep sound to-night or think of anything the rest o' the day ef I don't git it off my mind.” “What's that, Pole?” “Why, I don't feel right about callin' you to halt so rough jest now, an' talkin' about shootin' holes in you an' the like, fer I hain't nothin' agin you, Jeff. In fact, I'm yore friend now more than I ever was in all my life. I feel fer you _way down inside o' me_. That look on yore face cuts me as keen as a knife. I--I reckon, Jeff, you sorter feel like--like yore little sister's dead, don't you?” The rough face looking down from the horse filled. “Like she was dead an' buried, Pole,” Wade answered. “Well, Jeff”--Pole's voice was husky--“don't you ever think o' what I said awhile ago about shootin'. Jeff, I jest did that to git yore attention. You mought a-blazed away at me, but I'll be danged ef I believe I could 'a' cocked or pulled trigger on you to 'a' saved my soul from hell.” “Same here, old neighbor,” said Wade, as he wiped his eyes on his shirt-sleeve. “I wouldn't 'a' tuck them words from no other man on the face o' God's green globe.” When Wade had ridden slowly away, Pole mounted his own horse. “Now I'll go tell Nelson that the danger is over,” he said. Suddenly, however, he reined his horse in and sat looking thoughtfully at the ground. “No, I won't,” he finally decided. “He kin set thar an' wonder what's up. It won't hurt him to be in doubt, dab blame his hot-blooded skin. Thar I was in a hair's-breadth of eternity, about to leave a sweet wife an' kids to starvation an' tumble in a bloody grave, jest beca'se a rich chap like he is had to have his dirty bout. No, Nelsy, my boy, you look old Death in the eye fer awhile; it won't do you no harm. Maybe it'll cool you off a little.” And Pole Baker rode to the thicket where he had hidden his bag of corn-meal that' morning and took it home. X HAT afternoon, for Cynthia Porter, dragged slowly along. The quilt was finished, duly admired, and laid away. The visiting girls put on their sun-bonnets about four o'clock and went home. No further news had come from the village in regard to the impending duel, and each girl hurried away in the fluttering hope that she would be the first to hear of the outcome.