Slowly little Jason climbed the spur and dropped on the old log on
which he had so often sat--fighting out the trouble which he had
so long feared must come. The moon and the stars in her wake were
sinking and the night was very still. His reason told him his
mother was her own mistress, and had the right to marry when she
pleased and whom she pleased, but she was a Honeycutt, again she
had married a Hawn, and the feud was starting again. Steve Hawn
would be under suspicion as his own father had been, Steve would
probably have to live on the Honeycutt side of the ridge, and
Jason's own earlier days of shame he must go through again. That
was his first thought, but his second was a quick oath to himself
that he would not go through them again. He was big enough to
handle a Winchester now, and he would leave his mother and he
would fight openly with the Hawns. And then as he went slowly down
the spur he began to wonder with fresh suspicion what his mother
and Steve might now do, what influence Steve might have over her,
and if he might not now encourage her to sell her land. And, if
that happened, what would become of him? The old hound in the
porch heard him coming and began to bay at him fiercely, but when
he opened the gate the dog bounded to him whining with joy and
trying to lick his hands. He dropped on the porch and the
loneliness of it all clutched his heart so that he had to gulp
back a sob in his throat and blink his eyes to keep back the
tears. But it was not until he went inside finally and threw
himself with his clothes on across his mother's empty bed that he
lost all control and sobbed himself to sleep. When he awoke it was
not only broad daylight, but the sun was an hour high and
streaming through the mud-chinked crevices of the cabin. In his
whole life he had never slept so long after daybreak and he sprang