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 take this gun and go on home, before I say something to you that don't become me!"

Sallie stood looking at him, her face bloodless, making no effort to take the proffered weapon.

"The man that wore it last left it here a little while ago and walked away over that hill, and left my old age as barren as the top of a rock. I've lived nearly eighty year, and I've got to meet the man that's equal to him in honor and kindness of heart—but he's gone. He said for me to hand this gun back to you. Here—take it, and go on home!"

She reached out for it, but her eyes were not with her hand. She was looking away into the south, with something of the same yearning in her face as the old man had seen in Hartwell's but a little while before.

"Isn't he coming back any more, Uncle Boley?" she asked, her voice very small, a tremor in it, no pride in her quick young heart.

"What's he got to come back for? His work's done."

She dropped the heavy pistol and belt at her feet, and a little flush of color came into her face.

"I suppose his world is empty now," she said.

"Well, yours ain't," said Uncle Boley, rather sharply. "You've got your sixty thousand dollars, but you wouldn't 'a' had sixty cents if it hadn't been for that poor girl we put away under the sod to-day.