And as she spoke the rifle barrel slowly fell.
"I knowed it warn't your doin', but Joe'll never believe it. Night an' day you'll have to be close on your guard. There's no tellin' what minute your life may be in danger."
"I don't believe it of Joe Lorey," Layson answered earnestly. "We fought, and he fought fair."
After they had gone, Joe crept out from his hiding place among the shrubbery and looked after them with puzzled, pain-filled eyes, like a great animal's.
"If they'd only knowed that I war standin' in th' shadder there!" he mused. "If he hadn't spoke them words I'd pulled th' trigger, but he spoke up like as ef 't war true an' I jest couldn't do it."
A cautious footstep on the close-knit sward, which would have been inaudible to any ear less keen than his, attracted his attention, suddenly, and he slipped back to his leafy hiding-place. Peering from the covert he saw Holton coming. The man was furtive, apprehensive in his every movement, suspicion breeding. When Joe stepped out from his thicket boldly, to confront him, the ex-slave-dealer fell back, frightened.
"Hello, sir," was Joe's laconic greeting.
"Joe Lorey!" exclaimed Holton.
"That's me," Joe boldly granted. He peered at him so closely that Holton shrank away from him, involuntarily. "And you—why you're the man as gin th' word that Frank Layson had warned th' revenooers of my still."
"I told ye for yer good," said Holton, clearly recognizing that his position was unfortunate. "An' recollect you promised not to tell anyone my name."