"Please ask him to come here."
In a moment Collar came around the house with a hoe on his shoulder. He was a slim, sandy bearded, long-haired man of medium height, with keen gray eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. Constable," said Peasley. "This is Eliphalet Biggs of St. Louis, and here is a warrant for his arrest."
He passed a paper to the officer.
"For my arrest!" Biggs exclaimed. "What is the charge?"
"That you hired a number of men to burn the house of Samson Henry Traylor, near the village of New Salem, in Sangamon County, and, by violence, to compel him to leave said county; that, on the 29th of August, said men—the same being eight in number—attempted to carry out your design and, being captured and overpowered, all confessed their guilt and your connection with it, their sworn confessions being now in the possession of one Stephen Nuckles, a minister of this county. I do not need to remind you that it is a grave offense and likely to lead to your confinement for a term of years."
"Well, by G—," Biggs shouted, in anger. "You suckers will have some traveling to do before you arrest me."
He struck the spurs in his horse and galloped away, followed by his servant. Samson roared with laughter.
"Now, Collar, get on your horse and hurry 'em along, but don't ketch up with 'em if you can help it," said Peasley. "We've got them on the run now. They'll take to the woods an' be darn careful to keep out of sight."
When the Constable had gone, Peasley said to Samson: "We'll drop these slaves at Nate Haskell's door. He'll take care of 'em until dark and start 'em on the north road. Late in the evening I'll pick 'em up an' get 'em out o' this part o' the country."