The rain ceased only briefly when the
cold congealed it into a flurry of beating hail stones; thereafter came
the rain again, scarcely less noisy. And in the morning when she awoke
with a start and smelled boiling coffee the wind was still raging, the
rain was falling heavily and steadily.
In the dark and with the lamps burning on palely into the dim day she
breakfasted. Together with several of the men she ate in the kitchen
where a fire roared in an old stove, and where a table was placed
conveniently. Ma Drury was about, sniffling with her cold, but cooking
and serving her guests sourly, slamming down the enamelled ware in front
of them and challenging them with a look to find fault anywhere. She
reported that in some mysterious way, for which God be thanked, there
were no dead men in her house this morning. Bert Stone was alive and
showed signs of continuing to live, a thing to marvel at. And the man
whom Buck Thornton had winged, beyond displaying a sore arm and
disposition, was for the present a mere negligible and disagreeable
quantity.
Hap Smith came in from the barn while she was eating. He was going to
start right away. There was no use, however, in her attempting to make
the rest of the trip with him.
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