“I have heard as much,” returned Swallow.  “I am doing what I can for the party, but the people here are sadly misled and our own party is slowly losing ground.”

“Indeed!  I talked a little with a poor fellow named Lamb, out-of-work and sick.  He assured me that the town was solid for Buchanan, and also the county.”

Swallow laughed heartily.  “What!  Peter Lamb.  He is our prize drunkard, sir, and would have been in jail long ago but for Penhallow.  They are foster-brothers.”

“Indeed!” Mr. Grey felt that his knowledge of character had been sadly at fault and that he had been wise in not having said more to the man out-of-work.

“Do you think, Mr. Swallow, that if a master reclaimed a slave in this county that there would be any trouble in carrying out the law?”

“No, sir,” said Swallow.  “The county authorities are all Democrats and would obey the law.  Suppose, sir, that you were frankly to put before me the whole case, relying on my secrecy.  Where is the man?”

“Let me then tell you my story.  As a sound Democrat it will at least have your sympathy.”

“Certainly, I am all attention.”

“About the tenth of June over four years ago I rode with my friend Woodburn into our county-town.  At the bank we left our horses with his groom Caesar, an excellent servant, much trusted; used to ride quarter races for my father when a boy.  When we came out, Woodburn’s horse was hitched to a post and mine was gone, and that infernal nigger on him.  He was traced to the border, but my mare had no match in the county.”

“So he stole the horse; that makes it an easy case.”

“No, sir.  To be precise, he left the horse at a tavern in this State, with my name and address.  Some Quakers helped him on his way.”

“And he is in this county?” asked Swallow.

“Yes, sir.  His name here is Josiah—­seems to be known by that name alone.”

“Josiah!” gasped Swallow.  “A special favourite of Penhallow.  A case to be gravely considered—­most gravely.  The Squire—­”

“But surely he will obey the law.”

“Yes—­probably—­but who can say?  He was at one time a Democrat, but now is, I hear, likely to vote for Fremont.”

“That seems incredible.”

“And yet true.  I should like, sir, to think the matter over for a day or two.  Did the man see you—­I mean, recognize you?”

“No, but as I went by his shop, I at once recognized him; and he has lost two fingers.  Oh!  I know the fellow.  I can swear to him, and it is easy to bring his master Woodburn here.”

“I see.  Well, let me think it over for a day or two.”

“Very good,” returned Grey, “and pray consider yourself as in my debt for your services.”

“All right, Mr. Grey.”