It was very weak,
and we both leaned over the cradle,
from either side, and I saw the pity
and affection--yes, hungry, half-shamed
affection--in Grayson's face. The
child opened its eyes, looked from
one to the other, and held out its
arms to ME. Grayson should have
known that the child forgot--that it
would forget its own mother. He
turned sharply, and his face was a
little pale. He gave something to the
woman, and not till then did I notice
that her soft black eyes never left
him while he was in the cabin. The
child got well; but Grayson never
went to the shack again, and he said
nothing when I came in one night
and told him that some mountaineer
--a long, dark fellow-had taken the
woman, the children, and the household
gods of the shack back into the
mountains.
``They don't grieve long,'' I said,
``these people.''
But long afterwards I saw the woman
again along the dusty road that
leads into the Gap. She had heard
over in the mountains that Grayson
was dead, and had walked for two
days to learn if it was true. I pointed
back towards Bee Rock, and told her
that he had fallen from a cliff back
there.
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