"It's in the far pasture—three miles away," she answered. "Kirby'll have the whole country looking for you by the time we could get it. You'll have to stay here, Tom. I'll hide you in the house—Matty'll hide you over the kitchen. Let me do that for you—let me take the risk. Please!"
"No! If they get me, they'll get me in the open. No, Marjorie. Go on back."
"Then take a horse from the stable. Take my horse."
"Yours?"
"Yes. Uncle gave him to me, and I give him to you. You must…."
"But they'll know…."
"No, they won't…."
"But tomorrow when they find…."
She was facing him squarely, holding to his arms and shaking him. "Matty's husband is the stableman. He knows about you. He'll say that he turned the horse into the pasture. You must…. Joe! Sam! Go up to the stable and saddle my horse and bring him here. Run!"
"Yassum," replied the negroes in a breath. They disappeared into the darkness. Tom's protest was smothered under Marjorie's hand. The wave of excitement which had kept him on his feet passed, and it was as though he had been caught in a powerful undertow which swept his legs from under him. He sank down on the fallen log where they had been sitting together earlier in the day.