Jerry Henderson was not a scoundrel in a general sense nor had he hitherto been a weakling, but for once he was the self-governed man who has lost control of his life and fallen victim to vacillation. Surging waves of heart-hunger made him want to go recklessly back; to fight his way, if need be, through all the Towers' minions to Blossom's side and claim her as his promised bride.
Other and perhaps saner waves of tremendous misgiving beat with steady reiteration against those of impulse. He must live out most of his days among people to whom such an alliance would be stripped of all illusion; would resolve itself into nothing more than a mesalliance. For both of them it would eventuate in wreck—and so Blossom heard nothing from him and she tasted first fear, then despair.
At last Kinnard Towers either learned or guessed the truth; that Blossom had hidden Henderson out in the absence of her father and had aided his escape. He saw to it that the report gained wide currency in a land avid for gossip.
Whatever the condition of his love affairs, Jerry came up short against the realization that he could not indefinitely abandon his business. He must, in some way, demonstrate that he was not being effectively put to flight by feudal threats and so he carried his perplexities to Lone Stacy, who was awaiting trial in the Louisville jail, and unbosomed himself in a full and candid recital.
The bearded moonshiner, gaunter than ever and with the haunted eyes of a caged eagle, listened with grave courtesy but with a brow that gradually knitted into an expression half puzzled and half sinister.
"I reckon Bear Cat'll feel right-sensibly broke up," he said slowly. "Ye've done cut him out with his sweetheart, endurin' his absence from home, and ther two of 'em's growed up without no other notion then thet of bein' wed some day."
Henderson was on the point of self-justification, but before he could speak the prisoner went thoughtfully on: "Howsoever, a gal's got a rather as to her sweet-heartin'—an' ef ye won her fa'r an' above-board, I reckon Turner kin be fa'r-minded, too. I was thinkin' of somethin' else, though. From what ye tells me hit looks like es ef all these things, my jailin' an' yore lay-wayin', is jest pieces of one pattern. Hit looks like I was brought down hyar so thet Kinnard Towers could git you. Ef I'd a-knowed erbout his warnin' ye off thet night ye came, I mout hev guessed hit afore now."
He rose and paced the floor of the room where prisoners were permitted to receive guests bearing special permits—under the chaperonage of a turnkey. Suddenly he halted and his eyes flared, though his voice remained low and tense.
"I'm a Christian an' a man of peace," he said ominously, "but ef what I suspicions air true I don't aim ter submit ter hit. Does ye want ter go back thar ter Little Slippery?"
"I do, indeed," replied Henderson eagerly. "And soon!"