A Man Four-Square | Page 4

him.
Her heart beat fast with excitement and dread. Poor, undisciplined
daughter of the hills though she was, a rumor of the future whispered in
her ears and weighted her bosom.
Quietly she stole past the sassafras brake to the big laurel. Her lover
took her instantly into his arms and kissed the soft mouth again and
again. She tried to put him from her, to protest that she was not going
with him. But before his ardor her resolution melted. As always, when
he was with her, his influence was paramount.
"The boat is under that clump of bushes," he whispered.
"Oh, Dave, I'm not goin'," she murmured.
"Then I'll go straight to the house an' have it out with the old man," he
answered.
His voice rang gay with the triumph of victory. He did not intend to let
her hesitations rob him of it.
"Some other night," she promised. "Not now--I don't want to go now.

I--I'm not ready."
"There's no time like to-night, honey. My brother came with me in the
boat. We've got horses waitin'--an' the preacher came ten miles to do
the job."
Then, with the wisdom born of many flirtations, he dropped argument
and wooed her ardently. The anchors that held the girl to safety dragged.
The tug of sex, her desire of love and ignorance of life, his eager and
passionate demand that she trust him: all these swelled the tide that beat
against her prudence.
She caught his coat lapels tightly in her clenched fists.
"If I go I'll be givin' up everything in the world for you, Dave Roush.
My folks'll hate me. They'd never speak to me again. You'll be good to
me. You won't cast it up to me that I ran away with you.
You'll--you'll--" Her voice broke and she gulped down a little sob.
He laughed. She could not see his face in the darkness, but the sound of
his laughter was not reassuring. He should have met her appeal
seriously.
The girl drew back.
He sensed at once his mistake. "Good to you!" he cried. "'Lindy, I'm
a-goin' to be the best ever."
"I ain't got any mother, Dave." Again she choked in her throat. "You
wouldn't take advantage of me, would you?"
He protested hotly. Desiring only to be convinced, 'Lindy took one last
precaution.
"Swear you'll do right by me always."
He swore it.
She put her hand in his and he led her to the boat.

Ranse Roush was at the oars. Before he had taken a dozen strokes a
wave of terror swept over her. She was leaving behind forever that
quiet, sunny cove where she had been brought up. The girl began to
shiver against the arm of her lover. She heard again the sound of his
low, triumphant laughter.
It was too late to turn back now. No hysterical request to be put back on
her side of the river would move these men. Instinctively she knew that.
From to-night she was to be a Roush.
They found horses tied to saplings in a small cove close to the river.
The party mounted and rode into the hills. Except for the ring of the
horses' hoofs there was no sound for miles. 'Lindy was the first to
speak.
"Ain't this Quicksand Creek?" she asked of her lover as they forded a
stream.
He nodded. "The sands are right below us--not more'n seven or eight
steps down here Cal Henson was sucked under."
After another stretch ridden in silence they turned up a little cove to a
light shining in a cabin window. The brothers alighted and Dave helped
the girl down. He pushed open the door and led the way inside.
A man sat by the fireside with his feet on the table. He was reading a
newspaper. A jug of whiskey and a glass were within reach of his hand.
Without troubling to remove his boots from the table, he looked up
with a leer at the trembling girl.
Dave spoke at once. "We'll git it over with. The sooner the quicker."
'Lindy's heart was drenched with dread. She shrank from the three pairs
of eyes focused upon her as if they had belonged to wolves. She had
hoped that the preacher might prove a benevolent old man, but this man
with the heavy thatch of unkempt, red hair and furtive eyes set askew
offered no comfort. If there had been a single friend of her family
present, if there had been any woman at all! If she could even be sure

of the man she was about to marry!
It seemed to her that the preacher was sneering when he put the
questions to which she answered quaveringly. Vaguely she felt the
presence of some cruel, sinister jest of which