"So it is you, child," said Colonel Blount; "it is you again! Just as you went. You're Miss Lady, come back to us again." Impulsively forgetting everything but the one thought, he sprang to her and flung his arm about her shoulders. And Miss Lady could not find it in her heart to shrink from such a welcome.
"Oh, I'm glad to see you—glad to see you," repeated Calvin Blount. "Mr. Eddring, here, was just saying how good it is to have you back again."
Mute, she turned her eyes toward Eddring. The short upper lip trembled; in her eyes there was more than half a suspicion of moisture.
"Yes, we are very glad," said John Eddring, simply. With no word she put out her hand to each, and drew them out into the hall.
CHAPTER XVI
THE NEW SHERIFF
As Eddring and Blount sat engaged in conversation after dinner that same evening, they were interrupted by a sudden disturbance in the hall. "Stan' aside, you-all," cried a pompous voice. "You wanteh hindeh a officah o' de law?"
Hurrying footfalls followed, and presently the face of old Bill, Colonel Blount's faithful bear-hunter, appeared at the door, "Hit's dat fool new sheriff, Mas' Cunnel," he explained, "Mose Taylor. Why, he says he got a wah'nt fo' you. I tol' him like enough you was busy."
"Let him come in, Bill, let him come right along in," said Calvin Blount, suavely. "Mose Taylor, eh? That's our new sheriff," said he to Eddring. "He's our joke. Hell of a joke, ain't it?"
Presently there came to the door the form of the new sheriff, large, portly and pompous. Taylor was a mulatto who long had entertained political ambitions. The realization of one of his ambitions seemed for this present moment to give him no especial happiness. On his face stood beads of sudden perspiration. His office had never before seemed to him quite so serious as it did at this moment. At his waist he wore a belt supporting a pair of heavy revolvers with highly ornamented handles—a present from certain admirers to one who was looked upon as fit to do much for the elevation of his race. The new sheriff did not at that moment seem to think of these revolvers. As Mose Taylor entered the door he cast his glance backward, over his shoulder. It did not encourage him to see his cowardly posse of black followers gathered in a huddle at the edge of the overflowed lawn, beside their boat. They were waiting to see what would happen to their leader; and their leader now heartily wished that he had remained with them.