There was no answer, and he sank wearily into a chair, his thoughts reverting homeward. By this time his mother and sister must know why he had come back to the mountains. He could imagine their consternation and grief. Perhaps that was only the beginning; he might be on the eve of causing them endless unhappiness. He had thought to involve them as little as possible by remaining in the mountains; but the thought of living there was now intolerable in the new relations he would sustain to the people. What should he do? where go? As he bent fQrward in perplexity, there was a noise again in the cabin-this time the stealthy tread of feet-and before he could turn, a rough voice vibrated threateningly in his ears:
Say who ye air, and what yer business is, mighty quick, er ye hain't
got a minute to live."
Clayton looked up, and to his horror saw the muzzle of a rifle
pointed straight at his head. At the other end of it, and standing in
the door, was a short, stocky figure, a head of bushy hair, and a pair of small, crafty eyes. The fierceness and suddenness of the voice, in the great silence about him, and its terrible earnestness, left him almost paralyzed.
"Come, who air ye? Say quick, and don't move, nother"
Clayton spoke his name with difficulty. The butt of the rifle
dropped to the floor, and with a harsh laugh its holder advanced to
him with hand outstretched:
So ye air Easter's feller, air ye? Well, I'm yer dad-that's to be.
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