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Updated: May 25, 2025
He was as revengeful as stupid, and could have forgiven McKee's putting the rope around his neck more easily than Buck's joining in the humiliation which saved his life. Rising from the ground and trembling with anger, Peruna turned on the half-breed, saying: "I'll square this deal, Buck McKee." "Losin' vallyble time, Peruna. Git!" was all that his former boss deigned to answer.
He was even pharisaical about McKee's gambling. No, when his mind had come clear about keeping it, he would make an honest use of it, such as investing it in a saloon in Florence.
Le Moyne approved of night air, was raising its windows for the night and pinning cheesecloth bags over its curtains to keep them clean. In the second-story front room at Mrs. McKee's, the barytone slept heavily, and made divers unvocal sounds. He was hardening his throat, and so slept with a wet towel about it. Down on the doorstep, Mrs. McKee and Mr.
Tell her you've been wanting to see her." His tone was suddenly stern. "Lie a little, for your soul's sake." She wavered, and while she wavered he drove her in under the arch with the shameful name, and back to the barn. But there he had the tact to remain in the car, and Mrs. McKee's peace with Tillie was made alone.
It it's rather like very old times, isn't it? A man-child, Mrs. McKee, not in a manger, of course." "What do you want me to do?" Mrs. McKee's tone, which had been fierce at the beginning, ended feebly. "I want you to go in and visit her, as you would any woman who'd had a new baby and needed a friend. Lie a little " Mrs. McKee gasped. "Tell her the baby's pretty.
"Scotch-and-soda," said Le Moyne. "And shall I buy a ticket for you to punch?" But she only smiled faintly. He was sorry he had made the blunder. Evidently the Street and all that pertained was a sore subject. So this was Tillie's new home! It was for this that she had exchanged the virginal integrity of her life at Mrs. McKee's for this wind-swept little house, tidily ugly, infinitely lonely.
By this marriage she had one son, James McKee, a soldier of the revolution, and ancestor of the several families of that name in the neighborhood of Armstrong's Ford, on the South Fork of the Catawba. After McKee's death, his widow married Mr. Chronicle, by whom she had an only son, William, who afterward performed a magnanimous part in defence of his country's rights.
Twelve years later, more familiar with this than with most of his land grants, he sold it to a friend for $12,000. Just below Chartier are the picturesque McKee's Rocks, where is the first riffle in the Ohio. We "take" it with a swoop, the white-capped waves dancing about us in a miniature rapid. Then we are in the open country, and for the first time find what the great river is like.
His frame was emaciated from sickness; his head was drawn back by the torture which he had suffered; he limped upon feet that had been distorted by the firebrands in McKee's hands; and his face was overgrown by an unkempt beard. Sounds of laughter fell upon his ears as he mounted the steps.
He ain't young, and I ain't. And we're not getting any younger. He had nice manners; he'd have been good to me." Mrs. McKee's voice failed her. For a moment she gasped like a fish. Then: "And him a married man!" "Well, I'm not going to do it," Tillie soothed her. "I get to thinking about it sometimes; that's all. This new fellow made me think of him. He's got the same nice way about him."
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