Mr. Saltover, and Mrs.
Saltover, having one of her "Saleratus headaches," had turned him over
to her widow sister, Mrs. Huldy Price, who obediently bestowed upon
him that practical and critical attention which she divided with the
stocking she was darning. She was a woman of thirty-five, of singular
nerve and practical wisdom, who had once smuggled her wounded husband
home from a border affray, calmly made coffee for his deceived pursuers
while he lay hidden in the loft, walked four miles for that medical
assistance which arrived too late to save him, buried him secretly in
his own "quarter section," with only one other witness and mourner, and
so saved her position and property in that wild community, who believed
he had fled. There was very little of this experience to be traced in
her round, fresh-colored brunette cheek, her calm black eyes, set in
a prickly hedge of stiff lashes, her plump figure, or her frank,
courageous laugh. The latter appeared as a smile when she welcomed Mr.
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