, in ignorance of its contents, and only to produce it under certain
given conditions. Now Bas stood glaring at Sim Squires with eyes that
burned like madness out of a face white and passion distorted, and Sim
gave back a step, cringing before the man whose ungoverned fury he
feared.

But after an unbridled moment Bas realized that he was acting the
muddle-headed fool in revealing his fear to a subordinate, his hold over
whom depended on an unbroken pose of mastery and self-confidence.

He drew back his shoulders and laughed shamefacedly.

"I jest got red-headed mad fer a minute, Sim," he made placating avowal.
"Of course I knows full well ye done ther best ye could; I reckon I
affronted ye with them words, an' I craves yore pardon."

But Sim, who had never served for love, found the collar of his slavery,
just then, galling almost beyond endurance, and his eyes were sombrely
resentful.

"I reckon, Bas, ye'd better hire ye another man," he made churlish
response. "I don't relish this hyar job overly much nohow.... Ye fo'ced
me ter layway ther man ... but when ye comes ter makin' a common thief
outen me, I'm ready ter quit."

At this hint of insubordination Rowlett's anger came back upon him, but
now instead of frothy self-betrayal it was cold and domineering.

He leaned forward, gazing into the face upon which the lantern showed
spots of high-light and traceries of deep shadow, and his voice was one
of deliberate warning:

"I counsels ye ter take sober thought, Sim, afore ye contraries me too
fur. Ye says I compelled ye ter layway Parish Thornton--but ye kain't
nuver prove thet--an' ef I hed ther power ter fo'ce ye then hit war
because I knowed things erbout ye thet ye wouldn't love ter hev told. I
knows them things still!" He paused to let that sink in, and Sim Squires
stood breathing heavily. Every sense and fibre of his nature was in that
revolt out of which servile rebellions are born. Every element of hate
centred about his wish to see this arrogant master dead at his feet--but
he acknowledged that the collar he wore was locked on his neck.

So he schooled his face into something like composure and even nodded
his head.

"You got mad unduly, Bas," he said, "an' I reckon I done ther same. I
says ergin ef ye hain't satisfied with ther way I've acted, I'm ready
ter quit. If ye _air_ satisfied, all well an' good."

Bas Rowlett picked up the diary of the revolutionary Dorothy Thornton
and twisted it careles