June had grown calm now.
"I know it," she said quietly, "but I'm goin' to try to be."
Dave rose then in impotent fury and pointed one finger at her. His
black eyes gleamed like a demon's and his voice was hoarse with
resolution and rage, but it was Tolliver against Tolliver now, and
June answered him with contemptuous fearlessness.
"YOU HAIN'T NEVER GOIN' TO MARRY HIM."
"An' he kept the Falins from killin' ye."
"Yes," he retorted savagely at last, "an' I kept the Falins from
killin' HIM," and he stalked away, leaving June blanched and
wondering.
It was true. Only an hour before, as Hale turned up the mountain
that very afternoon at the mouth of Lonesome Cove, young Dave had
called to him from the bushes and stepped into the road.
"You air goin' to court Monday?" he said.
"Yes," said Hale.
"Well, you better take another road this time," he said quietly.
"Three o' the Falins will be waitin' in the lorrel somewhar on the
road to lay-way ye."
Hale was dumfounded, but he knew the boy spoke the truth.
"Look here," he said impulsively, "I've got nothing against you,
and I hope you've got nothing against me.
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