"
"Rachel, wait! I'm coming, too. Give me my traveling-coat--there on
the trunk. What can I put on my head? My hat is in auntie's room."
Rachel, rummaging in the closet, brought forth an old white
tam-o'-shanter. "That will do!" cried Ruth. "Now, don't make any
noise, but come."
They tiptoed through the house and out into the early morning. It was
still half dark, and the big-eyed poplars watched them suspiciously as
they hurried down to the road. Every branch and twig was covered with
ice, and the snow crackled under their feet.
"I 'spec' it's gwine be summer-time where you gwine at, Miss Rufe,"
said Rachel.
"I don't care," cried Ruth. "I don't want to be anywhere in the world
except right here."
"Dey're comin'," announced Rachel. "I hear de hosses."
Ruth leaned across the top bar of the gate, her figure enveloped in
her long coat, and her white tam a bright spot in the half-light.
On came the riders, three abreast.
"Dat's him in de middle," whispered Rachel, excitedly; "next to de
sheriff. I's s'prised dey didn't swing him up--I shorely is. He's
hangin' down his head lak he's mighty 'shamed."
Ruth bent forward to get a glimpse of the prisoner's face, and as she
did so he lifted his head.
It was Sandy Kilday, his clothes disheveled, his brows lowered, and
his lips compressed info a straight, determined line.
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