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The man's offer sifted through Jinnie's tired brain and stimulated her to quicker action. She turned again, shifting the weight more squarely on her shoulders, her feet keeping perfect time with the shrill, whistling tune. "Faster! Faster!" taunted Maudlin. "Earn your meat, girl! Don't be a piker!" Faster and faster whirled Jinnie, the heft of the shortwood carrying her about in great circles.
And then Jinnie took the baby back to Peggy. So suddenly had the two strong, friendly forces been swept from Jinnie's daily life that as yet she had not the power to think with precision. Lafe she had had every day for almost three years, and Theodore King oh, how she loved him! Rumors were afloat that no power could save Lafe her dear, brave cobbler.
Then the two looked long and steadily at each other. "What're you drivin' at?" blurted Bates. "Only that I'm also interested in getting Jinnie away from Grandoken. The fact is I hate King, and I think it's a good way to get even with him." He refrained, however, from mentioning he was Jinnie's relative. "D'you have me in mind when you come here?" questioned Bates. "No!
He brought to mind the chastening he had given the fellow, and how Jinnie had suffered through his brutality. Lafe smiled cordially at the young man and asked him to be seated. "Jinnie's out," stated the cobbler. "I know it!" responded Theodore, taking a chair. "I've come to have a talk with you." Then looking from Mr. Grandoken to Maudlin, he queried, "Will you soon be disengaged?" Lafe nodded.
Rapidly she reviewed the quarrels she and Theodore had had, remembered how punctiliously he always carried out his honorable intentions, and then Molly went very near the girl, staring at her with terror in her eyes. "Jinnie," she said softly, "pretty Jinnie!" Those words were Bobbie's last earthly appeal to her, and Jinnie's face blanched in recollection. "Didn't you love my baby?"
Jinnie still looked a cold, silent refusal. Molly grew even whiter than before, but remembering Jinnie's kindly heart, she turned her tactics. "I'm very miserable," she wept, "and I love Theodore better than any one in the world." "So do I," sighed Jinnie, bowing her head. "But he doesn't love you, child, and he does love me." Jinnie's eyes fixed their gaze steadily on the other woman.
Presently his brother called to him, and the gates and doors being opened, came in, bringing a waiter of hot food and coffee. "I told Jinnie you'd not like to leave the jail," he said, "an' she fixed this up." "Jinnie's mighty good," the sheriff answered, "and sometimes a woman's mighty handy to have about sometimes; but I'd not leave one out in the country like Mr.
Then, as he leaned his golden head against his friend, Lafe's arm fell about him. "Tell me, laddie," insisted Mr. Grandoken. "My stars're all gone out," faltered the boy sadly. "What made 'em go out, Bob?... Can you tell?" "Yes," blubbered Bobbie. "I guess Jinnie's sick, that's what's the matter." "Sick?" asked Lafe, in a startled voice. "Who said so?... Did she?" Bobbie shook his head.
She wondered where he had been all these days and if he had thought of her. Jinnie's pulses were galloping along like a race horse. She stood quietly until the master was called, and he came quickly without making her wait. "I'm going to ask you to do me a favor," he said, coming forward, holding out his hand.
Jinnie's voice rang out. "Don't think such things. They couldn't put Lafe in a wicked death chair they couldn't." Bobbie's upraised eyes were trying to pierce through their veil of darkness to seek the speaker's meaning. "What chair, Jinnie?" he quivered. "What kind of a chair're they goin' to put my beautiful Lafe in?"
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