A Pagan of the Hills | Page 9

across the girl's violet eyes, and
with an impatient gesture at the reminder of her sex, Alexander tossed
it back. "I gives ye my pledge," she said simply.
Then she rose from her knees and stood looking off through the
window with a fixity that argued a deep dedication of purpose. "An' I
pledges ye somethin' else too," she broke out in a voice suddenly
savage. "Ef ye dies Bud Sellers belongs ter me ter kill--an' I won't
nowise fail."
But at that the wounded man raised a deter rent hand shaken with
palsied anxiety.
"No--no!" he gasped. "Thet's ther sperit I've done sought ter combat all
my life--ther shot from ther la'rel--ther lay-wayin' of enemies. I couldn't

rest easy ef ye denied me that pledge."
Alexander's hands clenched themselves, and her lips were compressed.
"I don't aim ter lay-way him," she declared with an ominous quiet. "I
aims ter reckon with him es man ter man."
"Alexander." He spoke with slow difficulty but she knew that the
words came earnestly from his heart. "I hain't skeercely got ther
strength ter argyfy with ye, but without ye seeks ter hinder me from
layin' peaceful in my last sleep ye'll bide by my command. Ther boy
wasn't hisself when he harmed me. He war plum crazed. No man loves
me better than what he does when he's in his right mind. No man
wucked harder down thar. I fergives him full free. I wants ye ter act
ther same an' ter make Joe do likewise."
The girl covered her face with her hands and turned from the bed. She
went for a moment to the door and flung it open. There was no longer
any sunshine--only a dome of leaden heaviness and the wail of dismal
wind through the timber. To the father's eyes, despite her masculine
attire she was all feminine as she stood there and his face grew tender
as he watched the curls stirring at her temples.
Finally she wheeled and with a military stiffness marched back. Slowly
she nodded her head. "I gives ye thet pledge too;" she said, "since ye
wants hit--but I gives hit with a right heavy sperit."
He reached up and took her hand, drawing her down to the bed by his
side.
"Alexander," he said softly, "mebby I hain't played quite fa'r with ye
my own self. I've done tried ter raise ye up like a man because I could
always kinderly lean on ye--but ye've done been both a son an' a
daughter ter me. Maybe though when I'm gone ther woman in ye'll
come uppermost an' ye'll think hardly of me fer what I did."
"Think hard of ye fer tryin' ter make a man of me!" Her voice was as
full of scornful protest as though a soldier had said, "Think hard of you

because you taught me valor!"
He smiled before he spoke again. "I've done warned young men off
from co'tin' ye on pain of harm an' death--an' when I'm dead they'll
come in lavish numbers seekin' ter make up fer lost time."
"I reckon I kin warn 'em off too," she protested, "an' by ther same
means."
Once more a smile flickered in the wearied eyes that looked up from
the pillow. "Thet's fer ye ter decide yore own self, but ef ther day ever
comes when ye'd ruther welcome a lover then ter drive him off, I don't
want ye ter feel thet my memory's standin' in ther way of your
happiness."
"Thet day won't never come," she vehemently declared, and her father
nodded indulgently.
"Let thet matter lay over fer ther future ter decide," he suggested. "Only
ef ye does sometime alter yore way of thinkin' I wants thet men
children shell come atter me, bearin' my own name. Joe's children are
apt ter take atter him. I don't see how ye kin compass hit, but I wishes
thet ef ye ever did wed, yore babies could still be McGivinses."
Despite her announcement of a masculinity which should not mantle
into a flooding of the temples and cheeks with blushes of modesty,
Alexander turned pink to the roots of her hair. Her voice was a little
strained.
"A feller kain't promise thet he won't go crazy," she declared. "But ef
ever I does go so crazy es ter wed with a man, thet man'll tek my
surname an' our children 'll tek hit too, an' w'ar hit 'twell they dies."
CHAPTER IV
Brent had wondered how the Parson and his exhausted companions
would, in the short time at their disposal, be able to call out a new force
of volunteers. If the dam gave way and the rafts were swept out the

thing would probably happen by noon and there were few telephones in
this sparsely peopled