“North Carolina isn’t a state at all,” Miss Osborne declared spitefully; “it’s only a strip of land where uninteresting people live. And now, what do you say to this telegram?”
“Excellent. It’s bound to irritate, and it leaves him in the dark as to our—I mean Governor Osborne’s—intentions. And those intentions——”
During this by-play he had reached a decision as to what should be done, and he was prepared to answer when she asked, with an employment of the pronoun that pleasantly emphasized their relationship,—
“What are our intentions?”
“We are going to catch Appleweight, that’s the first thing—and until we get him we’re going to keep our own counsel. Let me have a telegraph blank, and I will try my hand at being governor.” He sat down in the governor’s chair, asked the name of the county seat of Mingo, and wrote without erasure or hesitation this message:
To the Sheriff of Mingo County,
Turner Court House, S. C.:
Make every possible effort to capture Appleweight and any of his gang who are abroad in your county. Swear in all the deputies you need, and if friendliness of citizens to outlaws makes this impossible wire me immediately, and I will send militia. Any delay on your part will be visited with severest penalties. Answer immediately by telegraph.
Charles Osborne,
Governor of South Carolina.
“That’s quite within the law,” said Griswold, handing Barbara the message; “and we might as well put the thing through at a gallop. I’ll get the telegraph company to hold open the line to Turner Court House until the sheriff answers.”
As Barbara read the message he saw her pleasure in the quick compression of her lips, the glow in her cheeks, and then the bright glint of her bronze-brown eyes as she finished.