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Updated: May 7, 2025
Messner did not offer his hand. Womble stirred uneasily, feeling for the other the hatred one is prone to feel for one he has wronged. "And so you're the chap," Messner said in marvelling accents. "Well, well. You see, I really am glad to meet you. I have been er curious to know what Theresa found in you where, I may say, the attraction lay. Well, well."
"Why, necessarily, should I be the one to get out? I found this cabin first." "But Tess can't get out," Womble explained. "Her lungs are already slightly chilled." "I agree with you. She can't venture ten miles of frost. By all means she must remain." "Then it is as I said," Womble announced with finality. Messner cleared his throat. "Your lungs are all right, aren't they?" "Yes, but what of it?"
Womble rushed across the floor to the gold-sack. "Can't put this deal through too quick for me, you you little worm!" "Now, there you err," was the smiling rejoinder. "As a matter of ethics isn't the man who gives a bribe as bad as the man who takes a bribe?
"Well?" he demanded of her. She hesitated, and a surge of anger darkened his face. He turned upon Messner. "Enough of this. You can't stop here." "Yes, I can." "I won't let you." Womble squared his shoulders. "I'm running things." "I'll stay anyway," the other persisted. "I'll put you out." "I'll come back." Womble stopped a moment to steady his voice and control himself.
They're a simple folk, these miners, and all I'll have to do will be to show them the marks of the beating, tell them the truth about you, and present my claim for my wife." The woman attempted to speak, but Womble turned upon her fiercely. "You keep out of this," he cried. In marked contrast was Messner's "Please don't intrude, Theresa."
What of her anger and pent feelings, her lungs were irritated into the dry, hacking cough, and with blood-suffused face and one hand clenched against her chest, she waited for the paroxysm to pass. Womble looked gloomily at her, noting her cough. "Something must be done," he said. "Yet her lungs can't stand the exposure. She can't travel till the temperature rises.
And he looked the other up and down as a man would look a horse up and down. "I know how you must feel about me," Womble began. "Don't mention it," Messner broke in with exaggerated cordiality of voice and manner. "Never mind that. What I want to know is how do you find her? Up to expectations? Has she worn well? Life been all a happy dream ever since?" "Don't be silly," Theresa interjected.
Womble, near Lumpkin, Stewart County, Georgia about 1847, the exact date not known to her, where she lived until she was about four years old. Then her father was sold to a Dr. When the Civil War broke out, Angeline, her mother and sister were turned over to Robert Smith, who substituted for Henry Fagen, in the Confederate Army.
"I can't help being natural," Messner complained. "You can be expedient at the same time, and practical," Womble said sharply. "What we want to know is what are you going to do?" Messner made a well-feigned gesture of helplessness. "I really don't know. It is one of those impossible situations against which there can be no provision." "All three of us cannot remain the night in this cabin."
Again the other cleared his throat and spoke with painstaking and judicial slowness. "Why, I may say, nothing of it, except, ah, according to your own reasoning, there is nothing to prevent your getting out, hitting the frost, so to speak, for a matter of ten miles. You can make it all right." Womble looked with quick suspicion at Theresa and caught in her eyes a glint of pleased surprise.
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