She did not know, or vaguely suspect, that the thing he "'lowed" to do was to kill the man whom she had set high on the pedestal of her hero-worship; that his avowal was the avowal of the vendetta's lust for blood. She saw only his isolation and need of friendliness. She did not know that in letting himself out in even that small measure of confidence, he was paying tribute to her increasing importance in his life. She knew only that her sympathy was stirred and that an affection such as she might have felt for some unlovely dog, starving for affection, made her want to befriend him. "My hand ain't against you," she assured him, and, as the pipe glowed with a long, half-fierce inhalation, she saw his eyes on her face with a dumb, half-worshiping expression, for which his lips found no utterance. But all the man said was: "I'm obleeged ter ye," and after that they sat for an hour in silences rarely broken with a disconnected conversation. It was the conversation of two very lonely people groping for companionship, but one was very shy and the other was fettered with a taciturnity too strong to break, so the groping brought little more than an incoherent sympathy. Neither of them heard the footfalls of a horse on the sandy road above them, and neither of them knew that Black Pete Spooner went into the cabin and spent a half-hour there. His coming was at once a surprise and an event, for the people in that house had not heard that he had reappeared in the hills, and they knew that where he went trouble went with him. "Where's little Newt?" he inquired, peering about the dark corners of the room. "He's done went out somewhars," replied his mother. "When did ye git hyar, Pete? I heered tell that ye had gone off to some place the other side of the world." "Didn't Newt tell you I was back?" "Newt don't never tell us nothin'," complained Clem. The Deacon nodded. Then he drew Clem aside. "Do you know what little Newt aims to do?" he accusingly demanded. Clem shook his head, and his bearded face mirrored anxiety. "I done told ye he don't never tell us nothin'." "Well, he's aimin' to kill Henry Falkins, an' if he does it, there's goin' ter be merry hell to pay in these mountains. You've got to keep an eye on him." "My God!" exclaimed the step-father in genuine fright and perplexity. "What kin I do? He don't pay no mind to me--none whatsoever. Thet boy's a rattle-snake in human form." The Deacon looked the other contemptuously up and down.