He waited now for the night to come, and to him the sun seemed fixed in the heavens.  At Belle Plain Tom Ware was watching it with a shuddering sense of the swiftness of its flight.  But at last the tops of the tall trees obscured it; it sank quickly then and blazed a ball of fire beyond the Arkansas coast, while its dying glory spread aslant the heavens, turning the flanks of the gray clouds to violet and purple and gold.

With the first approach of darkness Carrington made his way to the shed.  Hidden in the shadow he paused to listen, and fancied he heard difficult breathing from within.  The door creaked hideously on its wooden hinges when he pushed it open, but as it swung back the last remnant of the day’s light showed him some dark object lying prone on the dirt floor.  He reached down and his hand rested on a man’s booted foot.

“George—­” Carrington spoke softly, but the man on the floor gave no sign that he heard, and Carrington’s questioning touch stealing higher he found that George—­if it were George—­was lying on his side with his arms and legs securely bound.  Thinking he slept, the Kentuckian shook him gently to arouse him.

“George?” he repeated, still bending above him.  This time an inarticulate murmur answered him.  At the same instant the woolly head of the negro came under his fingers and he discovered the reason of his silence.  He was as securely gagged as he was bound.

“Listen, George—­it’s Carrington—­I am going to take off this gag, but don’t speak above a whisper—­they may hear us!” And he cut the cords that held the gag in place.

“How yo’ get here, Mas’r Ca’ington?” asked the negro guardedly, as the gag fell away.

“Around the head of the bayou.”

“Lawd!” exclaimed George, in a tone of wonder.

“Where’s Miss Betty?”

“She’s in the cabin yonder—­fo’ the love of God, cut these here other ropes with yo’ knife, Mas’r Ca’ington—­I’m perishin’ with ’em!” Carrington did as he asked, and groaning, George sat erect.  “I’m like I was gone to sleep all over,” he said.

“You’ll feel better in a moment.  Tell me about Miss Malroy?”

“They done fetched us here last night.  I was drivin’ Missy into Raleigh—­her and young Mas’r Hazard—­when fo’ men stop us in the road.”

“Who were they, do you know?” asked Carrington.

“Lawd—­what’s that?”

Carrington, knife in hand swung about on his heel.  A lantern’s light flashed suddenly in his face and Bess Hicks, with a low startled cry breaking from her lips, paused in the doorway.  Springing forward, Carrington seized her by the wrist.

“Hush!” he grimly warned.

“What are you doin’ here?” demanded the girl, as she endeavored to shake off his hand, but Carrington drew her into the shed, and closing the door, set his back against it.  There was a brief silence during which Bess regarded the Kentuckian with a kind of stolid fearlessness.  She was the first to speak.  “I reckon you-all have come after Miss Malroy,” she observed quietly.