The language which escaped the foiled pursuers when they found how near they had probably been to the object of their pursuit, was far more forcible than classic. They would have instituted a pursuit at once but Boniface told them such a thing would be useless there, for the old Parson, who was expounding Calvinism across the way, and a young Universalist in the village, who were perfectly at loggerheads on matters of theology, were so in unison on the matter of running off fugitives that they would make it hotter than —— for any one who should assist them, as the most of the community were on the side of the “road.” He advised that they go to Ashtabula, where the runaway would probably take boat for Canada, as their best plan.
This advise they accepted, and after a night’s rest and some observations made about the village in the morning, they departed northward, and in due time drew up at the “American” in Jefferson where their presence soon attracted the attention of a “road official.”
Having breakfast, our liberal theologian sauntered through the village, taking in the dimensions of the strangers and noting their departure northward, then, waiting until the sun had passed the meridian, he took his gun upon his shoulder and struck eastward as though meaning to make the Kinsman forests. Reaching a convenient point, he changed his course, and an hour before sunset threw down a half dozen squirrels upon the doorstep of the man whose slumbers he had disturbed the previous night. There was a little good-natured parleying as to who should dress the game, then busy hands were at work, and as the sun sank behind the western woodlands the family and hunter-guest sat down to a feast that would have tempted the appetite of a king.
Supper over, the guest challenged the host to take him to an appointment he had a few miles north, which was acceded to, and whilst the latter was getting ready the former went on the way a little to look after a trap he had set sometime before. An hour later and a vehicle with two men in the seat and a straw-covered bundle beneath was driven rapidly towards Jefferson. Arrived within a mile of the town, a halt was called under cover of a little clump of trees, one of the men alighted and stirred up the straw from which emerged a human figure. These two took a field path to the village, whilst the driver turned a little out of the public highway to await returns.
Twenty minutes later there was a rap at the side door of bluff Ben Wade’s home.
“Who the d—l is there?” said a gruff voice from an upper window.
“‘Thribble X’ from ‘A Thousand and One,’” was the quick response.
“What the h—l do you want at this time of night.”
“I have a white rabbit.”
“Take the black k—ss to Atkins; he’ll stuff his hide.”