"They hain't nary chance to save him no more," the old woman averred, lugubriously. "Hit's allus been said hyarbouts as how a feller allus gits his gal shore, if he pans her a ring in Pleasant Valley."
"Huh--girl!" quoth Plutina.
Yet this amorous affair was of small moment just now to the granddaughter, though she voluntarily occupied her thoughts with it. She hoped thus to keep in the background of her mind the many fears that threatened peace, by reason of her part in the night's work. She knew that she could trust the secrecy of Marshal Stone, but there was the possibility of discovery in some manner unforeseen. There was even the chance that suspicion against her had been aroused in Ben York. She could not bear to contemplate what must follow should her betrayal of the still become known. It was a relief to be certain that the two men she chiefly dreaded would be in jail, and unable personally to wreak vengeance. It was improbable, she thought, that persons so notorious and so detested could secure bail. But, even with them out of the way, the case would be disastrous on account of her grandfather's hatred of the revenue officers, and more especially, of those among his own people guilty of the baseness of informing. Should her deed come to his knowledge, it would mean tragedy. She dreaded the hour when he should hear of the raid, and was glad that he had gone away, for in all likelihood he would have the news before his return and the first shock of it would have passed.... So it fell out.
Uncle Dick rode briskly toward the little stream that tumbles down the mountain west of Air Bellows Gap, where long ago men washed for gold in feverish desire of wealth. Now, none sought a fortune in the branch grit, where a day's labor at best could yield no more than a dollar or two in gold. Only devoted swains, like himself, hied them there to win wherewithal for a bauble with which to speed their wooing. Uncle Dick chose a favorable spot, and washed steadily until the blackened old copper skillet itself shone like the flecks of gold he sought. When he ceased he had a generous pinch of the precious dust carefully disposed in a vial. He hid the skillet to serve another day, and set out on his return. Before he crossed Garden Greek, a neighbor, whom he met on the trail, told him of the raid. Eager for all particulars, Uncle Dick turned his mount into the high road, and hurried to Joines' store. The single-footing mare carried him quickly to this place of assembly for neighborhood gossip, where he found more than the usual number gathered, drawn by excitement over the raid. The company was in a mixed mood, in which traditional enmity against the "revenuers" warred against personal rejoicing over the fate fallen on Dan Hodges, whom they hated and feared. From the garrulous circle of his acquaintance, Uncle Dick speedily learned the history of the night. The account was interrupted by the coming of a clerk to the store door. He waved his hand toward the group on the steps to command attention.