As the mountaineer thrust his ramrod back into its casing, he
glanced at the woods behind Clayton, and said something to his
companions. They, too, raised their eyes, and at the same moment
the old mountaineer plucked Clayton by the sleeve.
"Thar comes Easter now."
The girl had just emerged from the edge of the forest, and with a
rifle on one shoulder and a bullet-pouch and powder-horn swung
from the other, was slowly coming down the path.
" Why, how air ye, Easter? " cried the old man, heartily. " Goin' to
shoot, air ye? I 'lowed ye wouldn't miss this. Ye air mighty late,
though."
Oh, I only wanted a turkey," said the girl. "Well, I'm a-comm' up to
eat dinner with ye to-morrer," he answered, with a laugh, " fer
I know ye'll git one. Y'u're on hand fer most o' the matches now.
Wild turkeys must be a-gittin' skeerce."
The girl smiled, showing a row of brilliant teeth between her thin,
red lips, and, without answering, moved toward the group of
mountain women. Clayton had raised his hand to his hat when the
old man addressed her, but he dropped it quickly to his side in no
little embarrassment when the girl carelessly glanced over him
with no sign of recognition. Her rifle was an old flint-lock of light
build, but nearly six feet in length, with a shade of rusty tin two
feet long fastened to the barrel to prevent the sunlight from
affecting the marksman's aim.
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