He was Easter's father. He could
even see a faint suggestion of Easter's face in the cast of the
features before him, coarse and degraded as they were. He had the
same nervous, impetuous quickness, and, horrified by the likeness,
Clayton watched him sink back into a chair, pipe in mouth, and
relapse into a stolidity that seemed incapable of the energy and fire
shown scarcely a moment before. His life in the mountains had
made him as shaggy as some wild animal. He was coatless, and his
trousers of jeans were upheld by a single home-made suspender.
His beard was yet scarcely touched with gray, and his black,
lustreless hair fell from under a round hat of felt with ragged tdges
and uncertain color. The mountaineer did not speak again until, with great deliberation and care, he had filled a cob pipe. Then he bent his sharp eyes upon Clayton so fixedly that the latter let his own fall.
"Mebbe ye don't know that I'm ag'in' fur-riners," he said, abruptly, "
all o' ye; 'n' ef the Lord hisself hed 'a' tol' me thet my gal would be
a-marryin' one, I wouldn't 'a' believed him. But Sherd hev told me
ye air all right, 'n' ef Sherd says ye air, why, ye air, I reckon, 'n' I
hevn't got nothin' to say; though I hev got a heap ag'in ye-all o' ye."
His voice had a hint of growing anger under the momentary sense
of his wrongs, and, not wishing to incense him further, Clayton
said nothing.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97