As I advanced cautiously along the fence, a low structure built of rough rails, and thus approached more closely to the front of the main building, other lights began to reveal themselves, enabling me to perceive that the inner hallway was likewise illuminated, although not brilliantly.  These dim lights proved sufficient, however, to unable me to trace the general form of the broad veranda in front, with its high roof upheld by pillars of wood—­doubtless giant forest trees—­and also the wide wooden steps leading down to a circling carriage drive.  In spite of previous descriptions I had scarcely anticipated encountering so fine a home in this land which to me was wilderness.  The contrast of what life had undoubtedly been to its inmates, and what it would now become through the medium of this unwelcome message I bore, struck me with new force.  My mission became instantly a hateful thing, yet I only set my lips tighter, determined to end it as quickly as possible.

By groping about with my feet I succeeded in discovering the path of which Pete had spoken, and managed with difficulty to follow it slowly.  Winding in and out amid shrubbery, and what may have been reserved for flower beds, this ended at a side door, which was locked.  Discovering this fact, and that it resisted all efforts at opening, I turned once more toward the front, and advanced in that direction, securely hidden by the dense shadow of the house.  All about me was silence, not even the sound of a voice or the flap of a wing breaking the intense stillness of the night.  I almost imagined I heard the murmur of the distant river, but this was probably the night breeze sighing through the tree branches.  I came below the veranda, still in the deep shadow, utterly unconscious of any other presence, when suddenly, from just above me, and certainly not six feet distant, a man spoke gruffly, the unexpected sound of his strange voice interrupted by the sharp grate of a chair’s leg on the porch floor, and a half-smothered yawn.

“Say, Sheriff, how long are we all goin’ ter set yere, do yer know?  This don’t look much like Saint Louee afore daylight ter me.”

I stopped still, crouching low, my heart leaping into my throat, and every nerve tingling.

“No, it sure don’t, Tim,” replied another, and the fellow apparently got down from off his perch on the porch rail.  “Yer see Kirby is bound he’ll get hold o’ them two missin’ females furst, afore he’ll let me round up the niggers.”

“But yer told him yer wouldn’t round the niggers up, an’ stow ’em away in the boat.”

“Not till I get service on the young lady.  It wouldn’t do no good.”

“Whut’s the idee?”

“Damned if I know exactly.  All I know is whut I kin do accordin’ ter law, an’ whut I can’t.  The papers is all straight ’nough, but they’ve got ter be served afore we kin lay hands on a damned thing.  The Jedge tol’ me fer ter do everything just as Kirby sed, an’ I aim ter do it, but just the same I got ter keep inside the law.  I reckon thar’s a hitch sumwhar’, but thet’s none o’ my business.  Kirby is liberal ‘nough with his money, an’ I dunno as it makes much difference when we strike the ol’ town.”