d them, and Bunker and Slosson sprang from their seats.

"Get down, ma'am!" said the latter.

"Where are you taking me?" asked Betty, in a voice that shook in spite
of her efforts to control it.

"You must hurry, ma'am," urged Slosson impatiently.

"I won't move until I know where you intend taking me!" said Betty, "If
I am to die--"

Mr. Slosson laughed loudly and indulgently.

"You ain't. If you don't want to walk, I'm man enough fo' to tote you.
We ain't far to go, and I've tackled jobs I'd a heap less heart fo' in
my time," he concluded gallantly. From the opposite side of the carriage
Bunker swore nervously. He desired to know if they were to stand there
talking all night. "Shut your filthy mouth, Bunker, and see you keep
tight hold of that young rip-staver," said Slosson. "He's a perfect
eel--I've had dealings with him afore!"

"You tried to kill my Uncle Bob--at the tavern, you and Captain Murrell.
I heard you, and I seen you drag him to the river!" cried Hannibal.

Slosson gave a start of astonishment at this.

"Why, ain't he hateful?" he exclaimed aghast. "See here, young feller,
that's no kind of a way fo' you to talk to a man who has riz his ten
children!"

Again Bunker swore, while Jim told Slosson to make haste. This popular
clamor served to recall the tavernkeeper to a sense of duty.

"Ma'am, like I should tote you, or will you walk?" he inquired, and
reaching out his hand took hold of Betty.

"I'll walk," said the girl quickly, shrinking from the contact.

"Keep close at my heels. Bunker, you tuck along after her with the boy."

"What about this nigger?" asked the fourth man.

"Fetch him along with us," said Slosson. They turned from the road
while he was speaking and entered a narrow path that led off through the
woods, apparently in the direction of the river. A moment later Betty
heard the carriage drive away. They went onward in silence for a little
time, then Slosson spoke over his shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am, I've riz ten children but none of 'em was like him--I
trained 'em up to the minute!" Mr. Slosson seemed to have passed
completely under the spell of his domestic recollections, for he
continued with just a touch of reminiscent sadness in his tone. "There
was all told four Mrs. Slossons: two of 'em was South Carolinians, one
was from Georgia, and the last was a widow lady out of east Tennessee.
She'd buried three husbands and I figured we could start perfectly
even."

The intrins