WITH a little cry she shrank back a step.Her face paled and her lips trembled,and for a moment she could not speak.But her eyes swept the group,and were fixed in two points of fire on Rome.
"Why don't ye shoot!"she asked,scornfully.
"I hev heerd that the Stetsons have got to makin war on women-folks,but I never believed it afore."Then she turned to the miller.
Kin I git some more meal hyeh?"she asked."Or have ye stopped sellin'to folks on t'other side?"she added,in a tone that sought no favor.
"You kin have all ye want,"said old Gabe,quietly.
"The mill on Dead Crick is broke ag'in,"she continued,"'n'co'n is skeerce on our side.We'll have to begin buyin'purty soon,so Ithought I'd save totin'the co'n down hyeh."She handed old Gabe the empty bag.
Well,''said he,''as it air gittin'late,'n'ye have to climb the mountain ag'in,I'll let ye have that comm'out o'the hopper now.
Take a cheer."
The girl sat down in the low chair,and,loos ening the strings of her bonnet,pushed it back from her head.An old-fashioned horn comb dropped to the floor,and when she stooped to pick it up she let her hair fall in a head about her shoulders.Thrusting one hand under it,she calmly tossed the whole mass of chestnut and gold over the back of the chair,where it fell rippling like water through a bar of sunlight.With head thrown back and throat bared,she shook it from side to side,and,slowly coiling it,pierced it with the coarse comb.Then passing her hands across her forehead and temples,as women do,she folded them in her lap,and sat motionless.The boy,crouched near,held upon her the mesmeric look of a serpent.Old Gabe was peering covertly from under the brim of his hat,with a chuckle at his lips.Rome had fallen back to a corner of the mill,sobered,speechless,his rifle in a nerveless hand.The passion that fired him at the boy's warning had as swiftly gone down at sight of the girl,and her cutting rebuke made him hot again with shame.He was angry,too-more than angry-because he felt so helpless,a sensation that was new and stifling.The scorn of her face,as he remembered it that morning,hurt him again while he looked at her.A spirit of contempt was still in her eyes,and quivering about her thin lips and nostrils.She had put him beneath further notice,and yet every toss of her head,every movement of her hands,seemed meant for him,to irritate him.And once,while she combed her hair,his brain whirled with an impulse to catch the shining stuff in one hand and to pinion both her wrists with the other,Just to show her that he was master,and still would harm her not at all.But he shut his teeth,and watched her.Among mountain women the girl was more than pretty;elsewhere only her hair,perhaps,would have caught the casual eye.She wore red homespun and coarse shoes;her hands were brown and hardened.Her arms and shoulders looked muscular,her waist was rather large-being as nature meant it-and her face in repose had a heavy look.But the poise of her head suggested native pride and dignity;her eyes were deep,and full of changing lights;the scarlet dress,loose as it was,showed rich curves in her figure,and her movements had a certain childlike grace.Her brow was low,and her mouth had character;the chin was firm,the upper lip short,and the teeth were even and white.
