Bud carried his father’s rifle now and day after day he went morosely into the hills after venison.
“Got to hang up enough meat for winter,” he told Nance when she looked at him with troubled eyes.
“Got to remember that Commandment which says ‘Thou shalt not kill,’” she answered.
“Brand said to carry the gun.”
“Brand said ‘defend’—not ‘murder.’ Hold hard, Bud. We’ve kept clean so far.”
“Yes—and what’ve we got? A grave—and this.”
He shrugged his sagging shoulder.
Quick tears came in Nance’s eyes and she laid a hand upon it with infinite tenderness.
“I know,” she said, “but somehow I still have faith. We’ll come out free some day.”
“Perhaps—free like our Pappy.”