“Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” he asked jocularly. “When did you see him and what was he doing?”
“Do I usually dream around in the daytime, Billy Saunders? I saw him about an hour ago and he was sound asleep. And if you think I don’t know a nigger when I see one you can go and look for yourself!”
They had reached the Saunders gate and he lifted his hat in farewell. “Remember you’re to keep that secret,” she called after him, in appeasement of a sudden compunction.
“Oh, I can keep a secret as well as you can,” he laughed back. Secretly a little troubled by his answer, but saying to herself defiantly, “Well, they deserve whatever happens, anyway!” she went into the house. He quickened his steps to the office of the United States marshal.
At the home of Mrs. Hardaker the members of the anti-slavery sewing circle were busy over their needles when Rhoda, from her seat near a front window, saw Horace dash up the street in a buggy. Springing out, he came up the front walk almost on a run. He saw her face at the window and beckoned. She went out and met him at the front door.
“Is there any U. G. baggage at your house, Rhoda?” he asked at once in low, anxious tones.
“Yes. A young man came late last night and has been sleeping all day.”
“Then that’s it! I just now discovered that Marshal Hanscomb was on the track of something, and I was afraid it might be there! I’ve got a case in court that will be called in ten minutes, but I borrowed this buggy from my client and rushed over here. Is your father at home?”
“No. I’ve got to go and get him away.” She was hurrying into her bonnet and wrap.
“You’d better let me—”