The Country Beyond | Page 5

exultation as he nodded toward the girl with the shining
curls
"Mooney says he'll pay seven-fifty for her when he gets his tie- money from the
Government, an' he paid me fifty down," he said. "It'll help pay for the brat's board these
last ten years--an' mebby, when it comes to a show-down, I can stick him for a thousand."
The woman made no answer. She was, in a way, past answering with a mind of her own.
The man, as he stood there, was wicked and cruel, every line in his ugly face and angular
body a line of sin. The woman was bent, broken, a wreck. In her face there was no sign of
a living soul. Her eyes were dull, her heart burned out, her hands gnarled with toil under
the slavedom of a beast. Yet even Peter, quiet as a mouse where he lay, sensed the

difference between them. He had seen the girl and this woman sobbing in each other's
arms. And often he had crawled to the woman's feet, and occasionally her hand had
touched him, and frequently she had given him things to eat. But it was seldom he heard
her voice when the man was near.
The man was biting off a chunk of black tobacco. Suddenly he asked,
"How old is she, Liz?"
And the woman answered in a strange and husky voice.
"Seventeen the twelfth day of this month."
The man spat.
"Mooney ought to pay a thousand. We've had her better'n ten years --an' Mooney's crazy
as a loon to git her. He'll pay!"
"Jed--" The woman's voice rose above its hoarseness. "Jed--it ain't right!"
The man laughed. He opened his mouth wide, until his yellow fangs gleamed in the sun,
and the girl with the axe paused for a moment in her work, and flung back her head,
staring at the two before the cabin door.
"Right?" jeered the man. "Right? That's what you been preachin' me these last ten years
'bout whiskey-runnin,' but it ain't made me stop sellin' whiskey, has it? An' I guess it ain't
a word that'll come between Mooney and me--not if Mooney gits his thousand."
Suddenly he turned upon her, a hand half raised to strike. "An' if you whisper a word to
her--if y' double-cross me so much as the length of your little finger--I'll break every bone
in your body, so help me God! You understand? You won't say anything to her?"
The woman's uneven shoulders drooped lower.
"I won't say ennything, Jed. I--promise."
The man dropped his uplifted hand with a harsh grunt.
"I'll kill y' if you do," he warned.
The girl had dropped her axe, and was coming toward them. She was a slim, bird-like
creature, with a poise to her head and an up- tilt to her chin which warned that the man
had not yet beaten her to the level of the woman. She was dressed in a faded calico,
frayed at the bottom, and with the sleeves bobbed off just above the elbows of her slim
white arms. Her stockings were mottled with patches and mends, and her shoes were old,
and worn out at the toes.
But to Peter, worshipping her from his hiding place, she was the most beautiful thing in
the world. Jolly Roger had said the same thing, and most men--and women, too--would

have agreed that this slip of a girl possessed a beauty which it would take a long time for
unhappiness and torture to crush entirely out of her. Her eyes were as blue as the violets
Peter had thrust his nose among that day. And her hair was a glory, loosed by her
exertion from its bondage of faded ribbon, and falling about her shoulders and nearly to
her waist in a mass of curling brown tresses that at times had made even Jed Hawkins'
one eye light of with admiration. And yet, even in those times, he hated her, and more
than once his bony fingers had closed viciously in that mass of radiant hair, but seldom
could he wring a scream of pain from Nada. Even now, when she could see the light of
the devil in his one gleaming eye, it was only her flesh--and not her soul--that was afraid.
But the strain had begun to show its mark. In the blue of her eyes was the look of one
who was never free of haunting visions, her cheeks were pallid, and a little too thin, and
the vivid redness of her lips was not of health and happiness, but a touch of the color
which should have been in her face, and which until now had refused to die.
She faced the man, a little out of the reach of his arm.
"I told you