A hatred for the Hatburns was like a strangling hand
at his throat.
"I got to!" he said; but his voice was wavering; the dull conviction
seized him that his mother was right.
All the mountains would think of him as a coward--that Kinemon who
wouldn't stand up to the men who had destroyed Allen and his father!
A sob heaved in his chest; rebellious tears streamed over his thin
cheeks. He was crying like a baby. He threw an arm up across his eyes
and stumbled from the room.
V
However, he had no intention of clerking back of a counter, of getting
down rolls of muslin, papers of buttons, for women, if it could be
avoided. Priest's store was a long wooden structure with a painted
facade and a high platform before it where the mountain wagons unloaded
their various merchandise teamed from the railroad, fifty miles
distant. The owner had a small glass-enclosed office on the left as you
entered the store; and there David found him. He turned, gazing over
his glasses, as the other entered.
"How's Allen?" he asked pleasantly. "I heard he was bad; but we
certainly look to have him back driving stage."
"I came to see you about that," David replied. "Allen can't never drive
again; but, Mr. Priest, sir, I can. Will you give me a try?"
The elder ignored the question in the concern he exhibited for Allen's
injury.
"It is a cursed outrage!" he declared. "Those Hatburns will be got up,
or my name's not Priest! We'd have them now, but the jail wouldn't keep
them overnight, and court three months off.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170