“You tried to kill my Uncle Bob—­at the tavern, you and Captain Murrell.  I heard you, and I seen you drag him to the river!” cried Hannibal.

Slosson gave a start of astonishment at this.

“Why, ain’t he hateful?” he exclaimed aghast.  “See here, young feller, that’s no kind of a way fo’ you to talk to a man who has riz his ten children!”

Again Bunker swore, while Jim told Slosson to make haste.  This popular clamor served to recall the tavernkeeper to a sense of duty.

“Ma’am, like I should tote you, or will you walk?” he inquired, and reaching out his hand took hold of Betty.

“I’ll walk,” said the girl quickly, shrinking from the contact.

“Keep close at my heels.  Bunker, you tuck along after her with the boy.”

“What about this nigger?” asked the fourth man.

“Fetch him along with us,” said Slosson.  They turned from the road while he was speaking and entered a narrow path that led off through the woods, apparently in the direction of the river.  A moment later Betty heard the carriage drive away.  They went onward in silence for a little time, then Slosson spoke over his shoulder.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve riz ten children but none of ’em was like him —­I trained ’em up to the minute!” Mr. Slosson seemed to have passed completely under the spell of his domestic recollections, for he continued with just a touch of reminiscent sadness in his tone.  “There was all told four Mrs. Slossons:  two of ’em was South Carolinians, one was from Georgia, and the last was a widow lady out of east Tennessee.  She’d buried three husbands and I figured we could start perfectly even.”

The intrinsic fairness of this start made its strong appeal.  Mr. Slosson dwelt upon it with satisfaction.  “She had three to her credit, I had three to mine; neither could crow none over the other.”

As they stumbled forward through the thick obscurity he continued his personal revelations, the present enterprise having roused whatever there was of sentiment slumbering in his soul.  At last they came out on a wide bayou; a white mist hung above it, and on the low shore leaf and branch were dripping with the night dews.  Keeping close to the water’s edge Slosson led the way to a point where a skiff was drawn up on the bank.

“Step in, ma’am,” he said, when he had launched it.

“I will go no farther!” said Betty in desperation.  She felt an overmastering fear, the full horror of the unknown lay hold of her, and she gave a piercing cry for help.  Slosson swung about on his heel and seized her.  For a moment she struggled to escape, but the man’s big hands pinioned her.

“No more of that!” he warned, then he recovered himself and laughed.  “You could yell till you was black in the face, ma’am, and there’d be no one to hear you.”

“Where are you taking me?” and Betty’s voice faltered between the sudden sobs that choked her.