step out'n the bushes thar some mawnin' 'n' pull down his
Winchester on ye, would ye say, ' Lawd, fergive him, fer he don't
know whut he do'?"

Old Gabe had told him once about a Stetson and a Lewallen who
were heard half a mile away praying while they fought each other
to death with Winchesters. There was no use prayin' an' shootin',"
the miller declared. There was but one way for them to escape
damnation; that was to throw down their guns and make friends.
But the miller had forgotten, and his mood that morning was
whimsical.

Well, I mought, Isom," he said, " ef I didn't happen to have a gun
handy."

The humor was lost on Isom. His chin was moving up and down,
and his face was serious. That was just it. He could forgive
Jass-Jass was dead; he could forgive Crump, if he caught him in no
devilment; old Brayton even-after Steve's revenge was done. But
now- The boy rose, shaking his head.

Uncl' Gabe," he said with sudden passion, "whut ye reckon Rome's
a-doin'?"

The miller looked a little petulant. " Don't ye git tired axin' me
thet question, Isom? Rome's a-scratchin' right peert fer a livin', I
reckon, fer hisself 'n' Marthy. Yes, 'n' mebbe fer a young 'un too by
this time. Ef ye air honin' fer Rome, why don't ye rack out 'n' go to
him? Lawd knows I'd hate ter see ye go, but I tol' Rome I'd let ye
whenever ye got ready, 'n' so I will."