The
lines in it had sunk deeper, giving it almost an aged look; the eyes
were hollow as from physical suffering or from fasting. He
preceded Clayton down the path, with head bent, and saying
nothing till they reached the spur of the mountain. Then in the
same voice:
"I want to talk to ye awhile, 'n' I'd like to hev ye step inter my
house. I don't mean ye no harm," he added, quickly, " 'n' hit ain't
fer."
Certainly," said Clayton.
The mountaineer turned into the woods by a narrow path, and soon
the outlines of a miserable little hut were visible through the dark
woods. Raines thrust the door open. The single room was dark
except for a few dull coals in a gloomy cavern which formed the
fireplace.
Sit down, ef ye kin find a cheer," said Raines, " 'n' I'll fix up the
fire."
Do you live here alone?" asked Clayton. He could hear the keen,
smooth sound of the mountaineer's knife going through wood.
"Yes," he answered; " fer five year."
The coals brightened; tiny flames shot from them; in a moment the
blaze caught the dry fagots, and shadows danced over the floor,
wall, and ceiling, and vanished as the mountaineer rose from his
knees. The room was as bare as the cell of a monk. A rough bed
stood in one corner; a few utensils hung near the fireplace,
wherein were remnants of potatoes roasting in the ashes, and close
to the wooden shutter which served as a window was a board table.
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