Ira ambled along through the woods, emerging at Barrett’s where the dubious rumors of his past career always assured him a ready welcome. He had never been of the Barrett’s set, preferring the quiet of the farm, and the adventurous game of quietly plaguing Aunt Mira. But they knew him for a former sailor and soldier of fortune (or ill-fortune) and they respected him for the dark traditions which were associated with his name. He sauntered along the shabby little street till he came to the house of Luke Meadows. He had no better plan than just a quiet tour of observation and inquiry. He intended to chat with Luke. But his curiosity had been greatly enlivened since he had seen the deer.
But at Luke’s house he was doomed to surprise and disappointment. The alien had gone away with his little girl. There had been no furniture worth moving and the westerner’s few portable belongings (so the loiterers said) had been taken in a shabby bag.
Luke had not vouchsafed his neighbors any information touching the cause of his departure or his destination. There was a picture, unconsciously and crudely drawn by “Missie Ellis,” the neighbor to whose care Meadows had consigned his little daughter just before the scout had saved him from arrest and jail. She seemed a motherly person, well chosen by the man who, in his extremity, had thought only of his little daughter.
“I see them go,” said Mrs. Ellis, “and he was carryin’ her in one arm and the bag in the other. They went up the road toward Dawson’s and I says to my man, I says, sumpin is wrong and they’ve gone to git the train. The county men was allus after him, houndin’ him and houndin’ him; Lord knows, I never knew him to do no harm but shoot game. And the little kiddie, she was the livin’ image of her mother. I nursed the poor woman when she died of the flu and Luk............