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Updated: June 19, 2025
"So that's Willard's measure!" he said. "He grades up like a side-winder slidin' under the sagebrush. There's nothin' clean about him but his clothes. But he's playin' a game him an' Chavis. An' I'm the guy they're after!" He laughed, and Uncle Jepson shivered.
He was sitting in a big chair at one of the front windows of the sitting-room, having already adjusted himself to his new surroundings, and was smoking a short briar pipe and looking out of the window at the bunkhouse, in front of which stood Pickett, Chavis, and Masten, talking and laughing.
Three pairs of lungs sighed audibly in process of deflation. It was Chavis who answered; the other two looked at him when the question came, silently. Chavis would have lied, but the light in Randerson's eyes warned him not to trifle, and the truth came from his lips: "Masten's gone to the Flyin' W ranchhouse." "I reckon that's all," said Randerson shortly. "I'm thankin' you."
"I am interested in Ruth Harkness, my dear. You surely don't believe such a story, do you, Ruth?" He looked at her so frankly that her jealousy took wings, and she blushed and lowered her eyes. She raised them again, almost instantly, however; they were glowing vindictively. "Tom Chavis came to the box canyon at three yesterday afternoon," she said firmly. "He insulted me.
During these years an exceptionally bright Negro was serving as a teacher not of his own race but of the most aristocratic white people of North Carolina. This educator was a freeman named John Chavis. He was born probably near Oxford, Granville County, about 1763. Chavis was a full-blooded Negro of dark brown color.
Where's your horse?" "Gone," she said dolorously. "He fell over there and threw me. I saw Chavis and Kester over on the mesa. I thought they would come after me, and I hurried. Then my pony fell. I've hurt my ankle and I couldn't catch him my pony, I mean; he was too obstinate I could have killed him!
So strong was this feeling that when he thought of her pony, back at the timber, guilt ceased to bother him. Ruth related to him the conversation she had overheard between Chavis and Kester, and he smiled understandingly at her. "Do you reckon you feel as tender toward them now as you did before you found that out?" "I don't know," she replied. "It made me angry to hear them talk like that.
Give her time." Chavis, however, while he obeyed the suggestion about leaving the pony where it was, did not follow Kester's suggestion about waiting, but began to run up the slope toward the plateau, scrambling and muttering. And Kester, after a short instant of silent contemplation, followed him. Ruth no longer trembled.
I want you to discharge him; Vickers is not here to do it. And I do not want to see him again." He pressed his lips together and avoided her gaze, and a slow red stole into his face. Then he laughed mirthlessly. "Tom Chavis is a valuable man here, Ruth," he said. "If the insult was one that can be overlooked, you would do well to let the matter rest.
An' this mornin' two of the boys told me they wanted their time. I was goin' in to get it for them. It's likely they're goin' to join Chavis." "Well, let them," she said indignantly. "If they are that kind of men, we don't want them around!" He smiled now for the first time. "I reckon there ain't no way to stop them from goin', ma'am. An' we sure don't want them around.
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