“Could you take care of him for me below, at Natchez?” inquired Fentress.

“As well there as anywhere, Colonel, and he’ll pass into safe hands; he won’t give me the slip the second time!”

“Good!” said Fentress, and took his leave.

From the window Murrell watched him cross the clearing, followed by the girl, Bess, who was to row him over to the opposite shore.  He reflected that these men—­the Wares and Fentresses and their like—­were keen enough where they had schemes of their own they wished put through; it was only when he reached out empty hands that they reckoned the consequences.

Three-quarters of an hour slipped by, then, piercing the silence, Murrell heard a shrill whistle; it was twice repeated; he saw Bess go down to the landing again.  A half-hour elapsed and a man issued from the scattering growth of bushes that screened the shore.  The new-comer crossed the clearing and entered the cabin.  He was a young fellow of twenty-four or five, whose bronzed and sunburnt face wore a somewhat reckless expression.

“Well, Captain, what’s doing?” he asked, as he shook hands with Murrell.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Hues,” said Murrell.  He continued, “I reckon the time’s here when nothing will be gained by delay.”

Hues dropped down on a three-legged stool and looked at the outlaw fixedly and in silence for a moment.  At length he nodded understandingly.

“You mean?”

“If anything’s to be done, now is the time.  What have you to report?”

“Well, I’ve seen the council of each Clan division.  They are ripe to start this thing off.”

Murrell gave him a moment of moody regard.

“Twice already I’ve named the day and hour, but now I’m going to put it through!” He set his teeth and thrust out his jaw.

“Captain, you’re the greatest fellow in America!  Inside of a week men who have never been within five hundred miles of you will be asking each other who John Murrell is!”

Murrell had expected to part with Hues then and there and for all time, but Hues possessed qualities which might still be of use to him.

“What do you expect to do for yourself?” he demanded.  The other laughed shortly.

“Captain, I’m going to get rich while I have the chance.  Ain’t that what we are all after?”

“How?” inquired Murrell quietly.  Hues shifted his seat.

“I’m sensitive about calling things by their short names;” he gave way to easy laughter; “but if you’ve got anything special you’re saving for yourself, I’m free to say I’d rather take chances with you than with another,” he finished carelessly.

“Hues, you must start back across Tennessee.  Make it Sunday at midnight—­that’s three days off.”  Unconsciously his voice sank to a whisper.

“Sunday at midnight,” repeated Hues slowly.

“When you have passed the word into middle Tennessee, turn south and make the best of your way to New Orleans.  Don’t stop for anything—­push through as fast as you can.  You’ll find me there.  I’ve a notion you and I will quit the country together.”