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Updated: May 2, 2025
He kept on his way, but when she had disappeared in the store he hesitated, then stopped, recrossed the street, and turned into the store after her. She was standing on the grocery side, tapping the counter with a coin. Martin Worthy was behind the counter, weighing a package of soda for her. She flushed red and then paled a little as Westerfelt entered and held out his hand.
There was a sudden step in the hall; a hand touched the latch; the door opened cautiously. "Harriet!" "Yes, mother." Mrs. Floyd glided across the floor, sat down on the bed by her daughter, and stared at her in wonder. "Where on earth have you been? I have been watching for you all night. Oh, my child, what is the matter? What has gone wrong?" "I have been out trying to save Mr. Westerfelt.
The silence of the couple behind convinced him that it was Bates and Harriet, for men in love do not talk much. Mrs. Wambush turned her head and took off her gingham bonnet to get a good look at the man her son had tried twice to kill. Her features were so much like Toot's that Westerfelt, who had never seen her before, thought he had discovered the fountain-head of the young outlaw's villany.
"We ain't well acquainted, Westerfelt," he began, stroking his chin downward and letting his lips meet with a clucking sound, also another professional habit; "but, you'd find, ef you knew me better, that I never beat the devil round the stump, as the feller said, an' I'm above board."
He leaned over the dash-board and impatiently called out to old Wambush: "How long are they going to keep us?" "Tell kingdom come ur Gabriel blows his horn," laughed the old man, and all his family and the neighbors who were sharing the hospitality of his wagon joined in the laugh. It was a thing the old man would have said to anybody else and in the same tone, but it irritated Westerfelt.
"What company wus that?" came from the edge of the crowd. The voice was quivering. "Forty-second Georgia." For a moment no one spoke, then the same voice asked: "Who wus your pa, young man?" "Captain Alfred Stone Westerfelt, under Colonel Mills." The tall slender figure of the questioner leaned forward breathlessly and then pushed into the ring.
Westerfelt led his horse into the yard, and to the well near the door. He pushed the bucket into the opening, and allowed the wooden windlass to fly round of its own accord till the bucket struck the water. "Thirsty?" she asked. "I'll git the gourd." He nodded. "And I want to water my horse; every branch and creek is bridged for the last ten miles."
Westerfelt would have been more generous in his estimation of her character had he been less jealous, and less angered by the disappointment of not being her escort. People driving slow teams looked at him curiously as he dashed past them. He had but one desire at that moment, and that was not to face Harriet and Bates together.
Peter Slogan had returned the horse, and, with a parcel under his arm, was trudging homeward. All that night Westerfelt lay awake, and the next morning he did not leave his room, ordering the wondering servant not to prepare any breakfast for him. He did not want to show himself on the veranda or in the front yard, thinking some neighbor might stop and want to talk over the tragedy.
The ring of men and horses opened for Wambush to pass out. He said nothing, and did not turn his head as he rode down the mountain into the mysterious haze that hung over the valley. "What do you say, boys?" proposed Jim Hunter to Longfield and Burks. "Let's ride down the road a piece with Westerfelt." "All right," both of them said. There was a general scramble of the band to get mounted.
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