After a perceptible pause, long enough to indicate indifference, brief enough to preclude all possibility of fear, a tall youth lounged into the room. There were no windows in the tiny shack, but between the two doors, front and back, was a shaft of golden sunlight, a concentrated radiance in which the boy stood. He was gypsy-dark, richly tinted, bold-fearless, and free, and the modeling of his arms and legs, his lean young torso, was magnificent.

“Well, my lad,” the physician’s eye roved delightedly over the perfection of the splendid young animal, “so you want to come to town and get an education?”

“No!” snarled Luke Manders, shooting a malevolent glance at his great-grandmother.

“Why, I thought——”

“I aim to stay here, where my paw stayed, and live the way he lived! Hit’s my way!” His brown grip tightened on the barrel of the rifle he was carrying.

“But, honey-lamb-chile,” the old woman quavered, “hit’ll pine-blank break my heart to have you stay here and do so fashion!” Her gaze rested on the weapon. “Live and die in battle and bloodshed! You air the smartest of ary Manders heard tell of,[24] and if you was to be fotched on—” She was trembling with eagerness.

[24]

Dr. Darrow patted her arm. “Now, don’t you worry, Granny Manders, he’ll come, all right! He’s just a little shy and timid, but——”

The boy wheeled to face him. Who was afraid?—Afraid of the chicken-livered mill hands? He was Luke Manders and his father’d been Luke Manders before him, and his Grandpappy Luke Manders before that! Ask anybody in these mountains if ever a Manders was scared of anything or anybody that walked the earth!

A furious outpouring, vigorous, incoherent, picturesque and profane. Boyish bombast, but something more than that: a seething hatred incompatible with fresh youth.

Glen Darrow, looking and listening with breathless interest, saw with amazement that her father was keeping his temper—the temper which boiled up and over so promptly for less cause than this.

“Well, by George, boy,” he stated with amusement and approval, “I believe your grandma’s right about you! I believe you’ll go pretty far, once you get something under your skull beside fancy cuss words, and learn to do something smarter than aim a pop gun behind berry bushes!”

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