Emory hardly heard. His pulse was quick. His eye glittered. He breathed hard as, with both hands in his pockets, he came close to her. “Mill’cent,” he said, “I told ye the t’other day ez ye thunk a heap too much o’ that thar stran-ger-” “An’ I tole ye, bubby, that I didn’t think nuthin’ o’ nobody but you-uns,” she interrupted, with an effort to placate his jealousy. The little jocularity which she affected dwindled and died before the steady glow of his gaze, and she falteringly looked at him, her unguided hands futilely fumbling with the lantern. “Ye can’t fool me,” he stoutly asseverated. “Ye think mo’ o’ him ‘n o’ me, kase ye ‘low he air rich, an’ book-larned, an’ smooth-fingered, an’ fini-fied ez a gal, an’ goin’ ter buy the hotel. I say, _hotel!_ Now _I’ll_ tell ye what he is--I’ll tell ye! He’s a criminal. He’s runnin’ from the law. He’s hidin’ in the old hotel that he’s purtendin’ ter buy.” She stared wide-eyed and pallid, breathless and waiting. He interpreted her expression as doubt, denial. “It’s gospel sure,” he cried. “Fur this very evenin’ I met a gang o’ men an’ the sheriff’s deputy down yander by the sulphur spring ‘bout sundown, an’ he ‘lowed ez they war a-sarchin’ fur a criminal ez war skulkin’ round hyarabout lately--ez they wanted a man fur hevin’ c’mitted murder.” “But ye didn’t accuse _him_, surely; ye hed no right ter s’picion _him_. Uncle Sim! Oh, my Lord! Ye surely wouldn’t! Oh, Uncle Sim!” Her tremulous words broke into a quavering cry as she caught his arm convulsively, for his face confirmed her fears. She thrust him wildly away, and started toward the house. “Ye needn’t go tattlin’ on me,” he said, roughly pushing her aside. “I’ll tell Mr. Roxby myself. I ain’t ‘shamed o’ what I done. I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him myself.” And animated with this intention to forestall her disclosure, his long strides bore him swiftly past and into the house. It seemed to him that he lingered there only a moment or two, for Roxby was not at the cabin, and he said nothing of the quarrel to the old woman. Already his heart had revolted against his treachery, and then there came to him the further reflection that he did not know enough to justify suspicion. Was not the stranger furnished with the fullest credentials--a letter to Roxby from the Colonel? Perhaps he had allowed his jealousy to endanger the man, to place him in jeopardy even of his life should he resist arrest. Keenan tarried at the house merely long enough to devise a plausible excuse for his sudden excited entrance, and then took his way back to the barnyard.