" Her eyes followed Harriet to the
fireplace. "No, daughter," she said, "go lie down; I'll stay here."
"I'd rather neither of you would sit up on my account," protested
Westerfelt; "I'm all right; I'll sleep like a log till breakfast. I
don't want to be such a bother."
"You ain't a bit of trouble," replied Mrs. Floyd, in a tone that was
almost tender. "We are only glad to be able to help. When I saw that
cowardly scamp draw his pistol and knife on you, I could 'a' killed
him. I've often told Harriet--"
"Mother, Mr. Westerfelt doesn't care to hear anything about him."
Harriet turned from the fire and abruptly left the room. Mrs. Floyd
did not finish what she had started to say. Westerfelt looked at her
questioningly and then closed his eyes. She went to the fireplace and
laid a stick of wood across the andirons, and then sat down and hooded
her head with a shawl.
When Westerfelt awoke it was early dawn. The outlines of the room and
the different objects in it were indistinct. At the foot of his bed he
noticed something which resembled a heap of clothing on a chair.
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