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Cullum, Ridgwell, [pseud.], 1867-1943

"The Forfeit"

The next moment the
dead thing was in his arms.
A low fierce cry suddenly broke the silence of those dreadful shades.
"Leave him! Don't dare, or--I'll kill you!"
Bud's head turned, and the muzzle of a gun touched his cheek. The
blazing eyes behind it shone like coals of fire as they glared into his.
But the great Bud's purpose was stronger than the madness of the
other's agony.
"Put up your gun, Jeff," he said, in a deep gentle voice. "We're jest
goin' to hide this poor boy wher' the eyes o' men an' beasts can't see
him. We're jest goin' to hide him away wher' mebbe the good God'll
watch over him, an' help him, an' surely will forgive him. You ken
jest help me, boy, to locate the place, an' when we find it we'll sort
o' seal it up, an' you ken hide the key away in your heart so no one'll
ever find it. Are you goin' to help, Jeff?"
For answer the gun was abruptly withdrawn. Then Bud saw the stricken
man's hand dash across his eyes, and, as it passed, he realized the
moisture of tears upon the back of it.


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