Chester's daughter as the delayed fulfillment of hopes twice dashed. Baby Sue had gone to rest in fiftynine, and none had come to replace her; then Chester had proved himself a failure. But Nan "Nancy's got spunk!" she reflected with an inner glow. "See how she's bearin' up now, an' strikin' out on new plans. .. Ches, he hums 'Wait till the clouds roll by,' but Nancy gets out an' helps push 'em away! Brave, precious child!" It was almost one o'clock when Billy Dines rode into the barnlot; he stabled his horse and entered the house. Sam Davis rose. "Missis Dines is up with the gal," he said; then coming closer and lowering his voice: "You don't need to tell me; they've took Ches Forest, an' he'll go back to stand trial in Texas. I know!" Startled, Billy Dines glanced inquiringly at Davis. "Uh-huh, Mr. Dines, I've seed what's in store for him; an', say, I been thinkin' of his gal. Looks to me like it's a case where I ort to make intercession for her at the throne of Our Heavenly Father!" "All right, Sam," Billy Dines agreed quietly as he heard the sound of his wife's feet on the stairs. "I guess you can go to bed now." To the imperative question in Susan's eyes, Dines answered: "Ches wasn't hurt. There was a couple of shots fired by the officers to scare him, but I managed to get hold of Ches's gun before he could use it. I rode in to Big Grove with 'em, an' got Claude Kearns to look out for him." "What did Kearns say; did he think he could get Ches clear?" "Well, you know Kearns. First, he sort of whines an' says he can't take any such damfool case, ain't a chance in the world for Ches! Then he wants to know who in hell's goin' to pay for defendin' the fellow; an' before I can tell him I'll be responsible he hushes me, kind of r'ars up on his hind legs an' says he'll get Ches clear in spite of hell an' high water. Gets his fightin' blood stirred, I guess." "That's good," Susan Dines approved. "Kearns is I expect you'd better go right a good lawyer. upstairs an' tell Nancy what you done." "Is she-how's she takin' it?” "Like a fightin' Forest! You don't catch Nancy cryin' much over spilt milk. Still, you better be as cheerful as you can an' get her to talk about the hayin'. It'll help ease her mind now." "Soon as she hears her pa ain't hurt an' Kearns is takin' his case she'll go to sleep," Billy Dines predicted; and she did. In the morning Susan Dines, moving quietly about the kitchen and s-s-sh-ing the men at breakfast, allowed Nan to sleep as late as she would; and it was ten o'clock when the girl became aware of light in her eyes, the warm caress of a July day, the sound of a hen hysterically announcing the dropping of an egg, the smell of boiling beet greens and pork. "Aunty, what time is it? I'm fearfully late?" Nan hurried into the kitchen, hugged the old woman and sat down to breakfast. "Your Uncle Billy said you was to sleep all day if you wanted to. He harnessed Bess, an' said if you wasn't out by eleven he'd send 'Blondy' over for her an' have him do the rakin'." Nan choked suddenly over a swallow of milk, pressed the back of her hand against her eyes as though to dam threatening tears. "Aunty, do you think I could see Dad before he goes?" "I'm afraid not, Nancy lamb," the old woman answered gently. "You see, them men came up from Texas with the papers for your pa, an' Kearns said he couldn't stop 'em. They took the mornin' train down. . . ." Her voice broke and she found herself on the other side of the table with Nan in her arms"Oh, honey lamb, we mustn't take it too hard, must we ?" Nan's arms were straining about her aunt's neck, her face wet with the other's rare tears. "Nancy, it's hard!" she sobbed. "Ches has always been 'Little Buddy' to me; I've always tried to look after him; an' now. "I didn't intend to give 'way, honey," she ended simply, and began to dry her eyes on her apron. They talked of the day's work until Nan went to the stable for Bess with Susan Dines's last words in her ears: "Two weeks 'll see the job done if everybody holds out, but I'm afraid Sam Davis 'll begin to hear voices callin' him away before then to go forth an' save sinners. He's beginnin' to show symptoms." Aunt Susan's grin shone on a face red-splotched from crying. Nan wondered about Sam: did he possess some kind of second sight, or had he heard something from Texas that no one else knew? She had heard people who believed in him and his visions stand up for him. With her aunt's competent assistance, Nan's plan for providing noon dinner for the haying crew at the Forest house was carried out. From her own garden patch Nan got potatoes, beets and string beans; she hunted eggs for beating into high-piled layer cakes and washed curly flakes of dried apples for pies. Her tasks absorbed her, the more completely because she felt that every hour of work in the haying meant a contribution toward the effort to save her father. Letters came from him, sometimes cheerful, sometimes despondent; but, confident of his innocence and comfortable enough in the care of a friendly jailer, the general effect of his letters was to give Nan courage. The two weeks, prolonged by two days of rain, saw the job finished. One after another, wind-waved rectangles of grass went down, dried and were mounded into tall forty-foot-long ricks. Sam Davis unexpect |