John Hale had done a great work, but
the limit of his activities was that State line and the Falins,
ever threatening that they would not leave a Tolliver alive, could
carry out those threats and Hale not be able to lift a hand. It
was his helplessness that was making him writhe now.
Old Judd had often said he meant to leave the mountains--why
didn't he go now and take June for whose safety his heart was
always in his mouth? As an officer, he was now helpless where he
was; and if he went away he could give no personal aid--he would
not even know what was happening--and he had promised Budd to go.
An open letter was clutched in his hand, and again he read it. His
coal company had accepted his last proposition. They would take
his stock--worthless as they thought it--and surrender the cabin
and two hundred acres of field and woodland in Lonesome Cove. That
much at least would be intact, but if he failed in his last
project now, it would be subject to judgments against him that
were sure to come. So there was one thing more to do for June
before he left for the final effort in England--to give back her
home to her--and as he rose to do it now, somebody shouted at his
gate:
"Hello!" Hale stopped short at the head of the steps, his right
hand shot like a shaft of light to the butt of his pistol, stayed
there--and he stood astounded.
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