ut hyar in ther
mountains an' five hundred soldiers couldn't never run ye down. Ye kin
cross over inter Virginny an' go wharsoever ye likes--but ef ye suffers
yoreself ter be took, they'll hang ye outen pure disgust fer ther
hills!"

Yes, thought Victor McCalloway, that was just about what would happen.
The boy whom he had been educating to a new viewpoint had, at a stride,
gone back to all the primitive sources of his nature, yet he spoke the
truth. Then the voice of Asa Gregory sounded again with a measured
evenness.

"What does ye think, Mr. McCalloway? I was thar on thet day. I kin hide
out hyar an' resist arrest, like ther boy says, an' I misdoubts ef I
could git any lavish of justice down thar."

"I doubt it gravely, sir," snorted McCalloway. "By Gad, I doubt it most
gravely."

"An' yit," went on the other voice slowly, somewhat heavily, "ef I did
foller thet course hit mout mean a heap of bloodshed, I reckon. Hit'd be
mightily like admittin' them charges they're amakin' too." He paused a
moment, then rose abruptly from his chair. "I come ter ask counsel," he
said, "but afore I come my mind was already done made up. I'm agoin'
over ter Marlin Town termorrer mornin' an' I'm agoin' ter surrender ter
Bev. Jett, ther High Sheriff."

"Don't ye never do hit, Asa," shouted the boy. "Don't ye never do hit!"
but McCalloway had risen and in his eyes gleamed an enthusiastic light.

"It's a thing I couldn't have advised, Mr. Gregory," he said, in a
shaken voice. "It's a thing that may lead--God knows where--and yet it's
the only decent thing to do."

CHAPTER XI

At the edge of Marlin Town stood the bungalow of the coal company's
superintendent, and in its living-room, on either side of a
document-littered table, sat two men. One of them, silvered of temple
and somewhat portly of stature, leaned back with the tranquillity of
complete relaxation after his day's work. His face wore the urbanity of
well-being and prosperity, but the man across from him leaned forward
with an attitude of nervous tension.

To Larry Masters there was something nettling in the very repose with
which his visitor from Louisville crossed his stout and well-tailored
legs. This feeling manifested itself in the jerky quickness of hand with
which the mine superintendent poured whiskey into his glass and hissed
soda after it from the syphon.

"Won't you fill up, Tom," he invited shortly. "The entertainment I can
offer you is limited eno