The voice of the flood had deepened.  A smile came to Becky’s lips—­a faint, terrible smile of triumph.  The girl bent low and, with a startled face, shrank back.

“An’ I’ll—­git—­thar—­first.”

With that whisper went Becky’s last breath, but the smile was there, even when her lips were cold.

A CRISIS FOR THE GUARD

The tutor was from New England, and he was precisely what passes, with Southerners, as typical.  He was thin, he wore spectacles, he talked dreamy abstractions, and he looked clerical.  Indeed, his ancestors had been clergymen for generations, and, by nature and principle, he was an apostle of peace and a non-combatant.  He had just come to the Gap—­a cleft in the Cumberland Mountains—­to prepare two young Blue Grass Kentuckians for Harvard.  The railroad was still thirty miles away, and he had travelled mule-back through mudholes, on which, as the joke ran, a traveller was supposed to leave his card before he entered and disappeared—­that his successor might not unknowingly press him too hard.  I do know that, in those mudholes, mules were sometimes drowned.  The tutor’s gray mule fell over a bank with him, and he would have gone back had he not feared what was behind more than anything that was possible ahead.  He was mud-bespattered, sore, tired and dispirited when he reached the Gap, but still plucky and full of business.  He wanted to see his pupils at once and arrange his schedule.  They came in after supper, and I had to laugh when I saw his mild eyes open.  The boys were only fifteen and seventeen, but each had around him a huge revolver and a belt of cartridges, which he unbuckled and laid on the table after shaking hands.  The tutor’s shining glasses were raised to me for light.  I gave it:  my brothers had just come in from a little police duty, I explained.  Everybody was a policeman at the Gap, I added; and, naturally, he still looked puzzled; but he began at once to question the boys about their studies, and, in an hour, he had his daily schedule mapped out and submitted to me.  I had to cover my mouth with my hand when I came to one item—­“Exercise:  a walk of half an hour every Wednesday afternoon between five and six”—­for the younger, known since at Harvard as the colonel, and known then at the Gap as the Infant of the Guard, winked most irreverently.  As he had just come back from a ten-mile chase down the valley on horseback after a bad butcher, and as either was apt to have a like experience any and every day, I was not afraid they would fail to get exercise enough; so I let that item of the tutor pass.

The tutor slept in my room that night, and my four brothers, the eldest of whom was a lieutenant on the police guard, in a room across the hallway.  I explained to the tutor that there was much lawlessness in the region; that we “foreigners” were trying to build a town, and that, to ensure law and order, we had all become volunteer policemen.  He seemed to think it was most interesting.