MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
nuthin' special agin you, Miss Jean. I reckon 'tain't your fault ye're what yer are; but fer Jem Donald, an' thet young calf of a Dunn, I'm layin' till I either git 'em, er they git me."
"But, Daniels, Jem Donald never destroyed your home; never drove away your wife or children. He would help you hunt them; I know he would."
The face of the old mountaineer had hardened into its usual expression of grimness, and I thought he already felt ashamed of his slight display of feeling.
"The hell he would! I reckon you an' I don't know ther same Donald."
"No, I don't think we do. I ask you to give the one I know a trial."
He shook his head stubbornly. "It's no use; soft words won't never settle our score." His eyes shifted from her face to mine. "Leftenant, I'm a-goin' ter git out o' yere; I feel like I was caught in a trap."
"Do you mean to insinuate that we are treating you unfairly?" I asked hotly.
"No; 'tain't you ner ther gal. You two are square 'nough. But this yere is ol' Jedge Dunn's house, under guard o' Confeds, an' 't ain't no place fer Bill Daniels ter be."
He took one step toward the door, then leaped backward, the knife out, and gleaming in his hand. Standing with back to the entrance, I neither saw nor heard anything, hut Jean's face went instantly white, and her fingers convulsively gripped the dresser. Then the knife dropped to the floor, and Daniels's arms were elevated.
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