"You just wait and you'll see. All you've got to do is to obey orders."

The old man got up, took down a leather shot pouch, and proceeded to
load the rifle carefully. After which he slung the pouch and a powder
horn round Ralph's neck, then went out and looked at the sun.

He returned, placed the rifle in the lad's hands, and bade him follow.
Taking their hats they went out of the house.

Steep mountain ridges cut off any extended view. An old field or two
lay about them, partially in the narrow creek bottom and partially
climbing the last rugged slopes.

There was a foot log across the little brawling brook, beyond which the
public road wound deviously down the glen towards the far distant
lowlands.

Ralph eyed the unusually stern expression of his grandfather's face
dubiously as they trudged along the road.

Bras Granger was all of sixty-five years old, dried and toughened by
toil, exposure, and vindictive broodings, until he resembled a
cross-grained bit of time-hardened oak. His gait, though shambling,
was rapid for one of his age.

"You said you'd tell me why," suggested Ralph, as they wound their way
along the crooked road.

"Didn't I say that the son of the man as killed your father was comin'