a circle of
white around each one. Hertha held her away, grinning.
"You look like a little raccoon."
Becoming all business then, Hertha stood up and left
the room.
Marna heard the outside door close softly, and she
rose and put her eye to the crack in the door. Her
grandfather had passed out on the floor. Her eyes dismissed him and swung to the bed. The hunter lay with
his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the ceiling. What is he thinking? she wondered. Probably wishing he was a hundred miles away.
Giving a small sigh, she returned to the bed and
waited.
In a very short time Hertha was back. She had in tow
the old minister who had served the hill people's needs
for the last five years. He cast a stern eye on the sleeping Emery and shook his head. If ever a man worked
for the devil, it was Emery Aker. Old Hertha was right
in taking any measure she thought necessary to get her
woods queer girl out of the man's clutches.
He advanced to the bed, and Hertha opened Marna's
door and motioned her out. In the fluttering light of the
candle, and to the accompaniment of Emery's snoring,
Marna Traver and Matt Barton were united in marriage.
Anxious for the preacher to be gone before Emery
awakened, Hertha pressed some money into the preacher's hand and hustled him to the door.
Matt lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Marna stood uncertainly a moment, then turned and
went to her room. Sitting down, she stared at her ringless finger. Not only didn't she have a wedding band,
the hunter had neither spoken to her nor looked at her.
He had merely mumbled the required answers to the
preacher with a big frown on his face. And the dratted
preacher, as if sensing Matt's distaste, had omitted the
phrase, "You may kiss the bride."
In the first gray light of dawn the cabin was roused
by Emery's loud bellow. "Hertha, you old witch.
Where's my whiskey?"
Hertha emerged from a curtained-off corner, fully
dressed. Matt propped himself on an elbow and saw Hertha dodge Emery's threatening fist as she made her
way to the fireplace. She raked back the ashes and
laid kindling on the glowing coals. When hungry flames
licked up the chimney, she moved to the table to fill the
coffeepot.
Matt reached down, felt of his leg, and grunted in
satisfaction. The swelling was gone, and only a little
soreness remained. His lips lifted sardonically. He'd be
able to leave with his bride. He wondered how much
trouble he'd have with the old man.
Suffering the aftereffects of too much whiskey,
Emery paced the floor in his dirty underwear. An overpowering odor of stale whiskey rose to assail Matt's
nostrils.
Emery threw himself into a chair and stared belligerently about him. Hertha slipped Matt's shirt off the peg
and hurried it to him. "Get dressed," she whispered,
then added, "and don't forget your knife."
Understanding her meaning, Matt nodded. His eyes
took on an an amused twinkle and he thought, Hell, I
won't need a knife to tame that old rooster.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and
slipped on his buckskins. Pulling the matching shirt
over his head, he reached for his footgear. He had just
finished lacing his moccasins when Emery stood up and
turned his back to the fire. For the first time his eyes
fell on Matt. He stared in surprise.
"Who in the hell are you?" he finally growled.
Matt stood up, strapped on his knife, then moved
toward his new in-law. "Don't you remember me,
Grandpa Aker?" he grinned devilishly. "I'm Matt Barton, Mama's new husband."
Huddled beside the fire, Hertha gasped. She hadn't
wanted the news to come out so suddenly. All hell
would break loose now.
Emery stared at Matt openmouthed, mulling over
Matt's words. Their meaning came to him, and his roar filled the cabin. "What in the blazes are you talkin'
about? Mania's husband! I'll be the one to pick her
husband. She's gonna bring me a good price, ugly face
and all."
"Sorry, Aker," Matt said coolly.
white around each one. Hertha held her away, grinning.
"You look like a little raccoon."
Becoming all business then, Hertha stood up and left
the room.
Marna heard the outside door close softly, and she
rose and put her eye to the crack in the door. Her
grandfather had passed out on the floor. Her eyes dismissed him and swung to the bed. The hunter lay with
his arms crossed under his head, staring up at the ceiling. What is he thinking? she wondered. Probably wishing he was a hundred miles away.
Giving a small sigh, she returned to the bed and
waited.
In a very short time Hertha was back. She had in tow
the old minister who had served the hill people's needs
for the last five years. He cast a stern eye on the sleeping Emery and shook his head. If ever a man worked
for the devil, it was Emery Aker. Old Hertha was right
in taking any measure she thought necessary to get her
woods queer girl out of the man's clutches.
He advanced to the bed, and Hertha opened Marna's
door and motioned her out. In the fluttering light of the
candle, and to the accompaniment of Emery's snoring,
Marna Traver and Matt Barton were united in marriage.
Anxious for the preacher to be gone before Emery
awakened, Hertha pressed some money into the preacher's hand and hustled him to the door.
Matt lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Marna stood uncertainly a moment, then turned and
went to her room. Sitting down, she stared at her ringless finger. Not only didn't she have a wedding band,
the hunter had neither spoken to her nor looked at her.
He had merely mumbled the required answers to the
preacher with a big frown on his face. And the dratted
preacher, as if sensing Matt's distaste, had omitted the
phrase, "You may kiss the bride."
In the first gray light of dawn the cabin was roused
by Emery's loud bellow. "Hertha, you old witch.
Where's my whiskey?"
Hertha emerged from a curtained-off corner, fully
dressed. Matt propped himself on an elbow and saw Hertha dodge Emery's threatening fist as she made her
way to the fireplace. She raked back the ashes and
laid kindling on the glowing coals. When hungry flames
licked up the chimney, she moved to the table to fill the
coffeepot.
Matt reached down, felt of his leg, and grunted in
satisfaction. The swelling was gone, and only a little
soreness remained. His lips lifted sardonically. He'd be
able to leave with his bride. He wondered how much
trouble he'd have with the old man.
Suffering the aftereffects of too much whiskey,
Emery paced the floor in his dirty underwear. An overpowering odor of stale whiskey rose to assail Matt's
nostrils.
Emery threw himself into a chair and stared belligerently about him. Hertha slipped Matt's shirt off the peg
and hurried it to him. "Get dressed," she whispered,
then added, "and don't forget your knife."
Understanding her meaning, Matt nodded. His eyes
took on an an amused twinkle and he thought, Hell, I
won't need a knife to tame that old rooster.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and
slipped on his buckskins. Pulling the matching shirt
over his head, he reached for his footgear. He had just
finished lacing his moccasins when Emery stood up and
turned his back to the fire. For the first time his eyes
fell on Matt. He stared in surprise.
"Who in the hell are you?" he finally growled.
Matt stood up, strapped on his knife, then moved
toward his new in-law. "Don't you remember me,
Grandpa Aker?" he grinned devilishly. "I'm Matt Barton, Mama's new husband."
Huddled beside the fire, Hertha gasped. She hadn't
wanted the news to come out so suddenly. All hell
would break loose now.
Emery stared at Matt openmouthed, mulling over
Matt's words. Their meaning came to him, and his roar filled the cabin. "What in the blazes are you talkin'
about? Mania's husband! I'll be the one to pick her
husband. She's gonna bring me a good price, ugly face
and all."
"Sorry, Aker," Matt said coolly.
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