an toward him across the yard, the Scratch Hiller
sauntered forth to meet him.

"I reckon it's all right, Nevvy," he said, "but we don't know nothing
about this here Captain Murrell--as he calls himself--though he seems a
right clever sort of gentleman; but we won't mention Belle Plain." With
this caution he led the way into the tavern and back through the bar to
a low-ceilinged room where Murrell and Slosson were already at table. It
was intolerably hot, and there lingered in the heavy atmosphere of the
place stale and unappetizing odors. Only Murrell attempted conversation
and he was not encouraged; and presently silence fell on the room
except for the rattle of dishes and the buzzing of flies. When they had
finished, the stale odors and the heat drove them quickly into the bar
again, where for a little time Hannibal sat on Yancy's knee, by the
door. Presently he slipped down and stole out into the yard.

The June night was pulsing with life. Above him bats darted in short
circling flights. In the corn-field and pasture-lot the fireflies lifted
from their day-long sleep, showing pale points of light in the half
darkness, while from some distant pond or stagnant watercourse came the
booming of frogs, presently to swell into a resonant chorus. These were
the summer night sounds he had known as far back as his memory went.

In the tavern the three men were drinking--Murrell with the idea that
the more Yancy came under the influence of Slosson's corn whisky the
easier his speculation would be managed. Mr. Yancy on his part believed
that if Murrell went to bed reasonably drunk he would sleep late and
give him the opportunity he coveted, to quit the tavern unobserved at
break of day. Gradually the ice of silence which had held them mute at
supper, thawed. At first it was the broken lazy speech of men who were
disposed to quiet, then the talk became brisk--a steady stream of rather
dreary gossip of horses and lands and negroes, of speculations past and
gone in these great staples.

Hannibal crossed to the corn-field. There, in the friendly gloom, he
examined his handkerchief and felt of the rolled-up bill. Then he made
count of certain silver and copper coins which he had in his other
pocket. Satisfied that he had sustained no loss, he again climbed to the
top rail of the fence where he seated himself with an elbow resting on
one knee and his chin in the palm of his hand.

"I got ten dollars and seventy cents--yes, sir--