(Reading time: 8 - 16 minutes)
The Mountain Girl
The Mountain Girl

  

"If it were only to hang, boy, it might be better for Cassandra. Think about it. If I help you, and shield you here, what are you going to do? What do you care most for in all this world? You who can kill a man and then not repent."

  

"He hadn't ought to have riled me like he done; I—keer fer her."

  

"More than for Frale Farwell?"

  

The boy looked vaguely before him. "I reckon," was all he said.

  

Again the bishop paced the floor, and waited.

  

"I hain't afeared to work—right hard."

  

"Good; what kind of work can you do?" Frale flushed a dark red and was silent. "Yes, I know you can make corn whiskey, but that is the devil's work. You're not to work for him any more."

  

Again silence. At last, in a low voice, he ventured: "I'll do any kind o' work you-all gin' me to do—ef—ef only the officers will leave me be—an' I tol' Cass I'd larn writin'."

  

"Good, very good. Can you drive a horse? Yes, of course."

  

Frale's eyes shone. "I reckon."

  

The bishop grew more hopeful. The holy greed for souls fell

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