“Ye air honest with me, an' now I'm goin' to be honest with you. You hain't never goin' to marry him.” [Illustration: You hain't never goin' to marry him.”, 0242] “Mebbe you think I'm goin' to marry YOU.” A mist of rage swept before the lad's eyes so that he could hardly see, but he repeated steadily: “You hain't goin' to marry HIM.” June looked at the boy long and steadily, but his black eyes never wavered--she knew what he meant. “An' he kept the Falins from killin' you,” she said, quivering with indignation at the shame of him, but Dave went on unheeding: “You pore little fool! Do ye reckon as how he's EVER goin' to axe ye to marry him? Whut's he sendin' you away fer? Because you hain't good enough fer him! Whar's yo' pride? You hain't good enough fer him,” he repeated scathingly. June had grown calm now. “I know it,” she said quietly, “but I'm goin' to try to be.” Dave rose then in impotent fury and pointed one finger at her. His black eyes gleamed like a demon's and his voice was hoarse with resolution and rage, but it was Tolliver against Tolliver now, and June answered him with contemptuous fearlessness. “YOU HAIN'T NEVER GOIN' TO MARRY HIM.” “An' he kept the Falins from killin' ye.” “Yes,” he retorted savagely at last, “an' I kept the Falins from killin' HIM,” and he stalked away, leaving June blanched and wondering. It was true. Only an hour before, as Hale turned up the mountain that very afternoon at the mouth of Lonesome Cove, young Dave had called to him from the bushes and stepped into the road. “You air goin' to court Monday?” he said. “Yes,” said Hale. “Well, you better take another road this time,” he said quietly. “Three o' the Falins will be waitin' in the lorrel somewhar on the road to lay-way ye.” Hale was dumfounded, but he knew the boy spoke the truth. “Look here,” he said impulsively, “I've got nothing against you, and I hope you've got nothing against me. I'm much obliged--let's shake hands!” The boy turned sullenly away with a dogged shake of his head. “I was beholden to you,” he said with dignity, “an' I warned you 'bout them Falins to git even with you. We're quits now.” Hale started to speak--to say that the lad was not beholden to him--that he would as quickly have protected a Falin, but it would have only made matters worse. Moreover, he knew precisely what Dave had against him, and that, too, was no matter for discussion. So he said simply and sincerely: “I'm sorry we can't be friends.” “No,” Dave gritted out, “not this side o' Heaven--or Hell.” XIX