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Updated: May 6, 2025
"Nothing shall come between us," quietly, his eye full upon the old man's. The story of a life lay in the look. Scofield met it questioningly, almost solemnly. It was no time for explanation. He pushed his trembling hand through his stubby gray hair. "Well, well, Dougl's. These days is harrd. But it'll come right! God knows all."
Thar's not a grandfather he hes in the country whar he's gone to that would believe one of our blood could do a mean thing! The Scofields ar'n't well larned, but they've true honor, Dougl's Palmer!" Palmer's eyes lighted. Men of the old lion-breed know each other in spite of dress or heirship of opinion. "Ye've been to th' house to-night, boy?" said the old man, his voice softened. "Yes?
"He was Geordy's friend, father," said the girl, gulping back something in her throat. "Geordy? Yes. I know. It's that that hurts me," he muttered, uncertainly. "Him an' Dougl's was like brothers once, they was!" He coughed, lit his pipe, looking in the girl's face for a long time, anxiously, as if to find a likeness in it to some other face he never should see again.
We were no less friends then than ever before." The old man's eyes had glared defiance at Palmer under their gray brows when he faced him, but his big bony hand kept fumbling nervously with his cravat. "Yes, Dougl's. I didn't want to meet yer. Red an' white's my colors, red an' white, so help me God!" "I know," said Palmer, quietly. There was a silence, the men looking steadily at each other.
It grew darker; the gray afternoon was wearing away with keen gusts and fitful snow-falls. Dode looked up wearily: a sharp exclamation, rasped out by Aunt Perrine, roused her. "Dead? Dougl's dead?" "Done gone, Mist'. I forgot dat ter tell yer. Had somefin' else ter tink of." "Down in the gully?" "Saw him lyin' dar as I went ter git Flynn's cart ter ter bring Mars' Joe, yer know, home. Gone dead.
Whatever comes afore mornin', I'm glad o' that!" "Have you no more to say to me?" "Yes, Dougl's, 's for my little girl, ef so be as I should foller my boy sometime, I'd wish you'd be friends to Dode, Dougl's. Yes! I would," hesitating, something wet oozing from his small black eye, and losing itself in the snuffy wrinkles. Palmer was touched.
Would she let him go, and make no sign? "Be quick, Gaunt," said Scofield, impatiently. "Bone hearn tell that Dougl's Palmer was in Romney to-night. He'll be down at Blue's Gap, I reckon. He's captain now in the Lincolnite army, one of the hottest of the hell-hounds, he is! Ef he comes to the house here, as he'll likely do, I don't want till meet him." Gaunt stood silent.
Scofield started at the tone, looked at him keenly, some new thought breaking in on him, frightening, troubling him. He did not answer; they crossed the broad field, coming at last to the hill-road. The old man spoke at last, with an effort. "You an' my little girl are friends, did you mean, Dougl's? The war didn't come between ye?"
It was a hard struggle with pain that had wrung out that tear. The old man held his hand a minute, then turned to the road. "Whichever of us sees Geordy first kin tell him t' other's livin' a true-grit honest life, call him Yankee or Virginian, an' that's enough said! So good bye, Dougl's!" Palmer mounted his horse and galloped off to the camp, the old man plodding steadily down the road.
Like he's dar yit. Snow 'ud kiver him fast, an' de Yankees hedn't much leisure ter hunt up de missin', yi! yi!" with an attempt at a chuckle. "Dougl's dead!" said Aunt Perrine. "Well! in the midst of life Yer not goin', Jane Browst? What's yer hurry, woman? You've but a step across the road. Stay to-night. Dode an' me'll be glad of yer company.
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