“You had better go down and see what happens,” he said to Harry.  “We’ll follow you in a few minutes.”

So Harry walked down to Brimstead’s.

He found the square house in a condition of panic.  Biggs and his helper had discovered the mulatto and his wife hiding in the barn.  The negroes and the children were crying.  Mrs. Brimstead met Harry outside the door.

“What are we to do?” she asked, tearfully.

“Just keep cool,” said Harry.  “Father Traylor and Mr. Peasley will be here soon.”

Biggs and his companion came out of the door with Brimstead.

“We will take the niggers to the river and put them on a boat,” Biggs was saying.

His face and shirt and bosom were smeared with blood.  He asked Mrs. Brimstead for a basin of water and a towel.  The good woman took him to the washstand and supplied his needs.

In a few moments Samson and Peasley arrived, with the latter’s team hitched to a Conestoga wagon.

“Well, you’ve found them, have you?” Peasley asked.

“They were here, as I thought,” said Biggs.

“Well, the Justice says we must surrender the negroes and take them to the nearest landing for you.  We’ve come to do it.”

“It’s better treatment than I expected,” Biggs answered.

“You’ll find that we have a good deal of respect for the law,” said Peasley.

Biggs and his friend went to the barn for their horses.  The others conferred a moment with the two slaves and Mrs. Brimstead.  Then the latter went out into the garden lot to a woman in a sunbonnet who was working with a hoe some fifteen rods from the house.  Mrs. Brimstead seemed to be conveying a message to the woman by signs.  Evidently the latter was deaf and dumb.

“That is the third slave,” Brimstead whispered.  “I don’t believe they’ll discover her.”

Soon Peasley and Samson got into the wagon with the negroes and drove away, followed by the two horsemen.

In a little village on the river they stopped at a low frame house.  A woman came to the door.

“Is Freeman Collar here?” Peasley demanded.

“He is back in the garden,” the woman answered.

“Please ask him to come here.”

In a moment Collar came around the house with a hoe on his shoulder.  He was a slim, sandy bearded, long-haired man of medium height, with keen gray eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Constable,” said Peasley.  “This is Eliphalet Biggs of St. Louis, and here is a warrant for his arrest.”

He passed a paper to the officer.

“For my arrest!” Biggs exclaimed.  “What is the charge?”

“That you hired a number of men to burn the house of Samson Henry Traylor, near the village of New Salem, in Sangamon County, and, by violence, to compel him to leave said county; that, on the 29th of August, said men—­the same being eight in number—­attempted to carry out your design and, being captured and overpowered, all confessed their guilt and your connection with it, their sworn confessions being now in the possession of one Stephen Nuckles, a minister of this county.  I do not need to remind you that it is a grave offense and likely to lead to your confinement for a term of years.”