“Mr. Powell, why did those men wish to hold me prisoner?”
“Miss Ormsby,” he said, and there was no smile upon his lips, “some of our people are what you might call ‘plumb quare’.”
That was all he had said, and for some time to come that was all she was destined to know about the reason for her mysterious captivity.
Only one thought troubled her as she neared the whipsawed cabin, and that, she told herself, was only a bad dream.
That it was more than a dream she was soon to learn. Two days later Mr. Dobson, having dismounted at their cabin, smiled with pleasure when he was told of the successful purchase of Caleb Powell’s coal land. Then for a moment a frown darkened his face.
“I—I hate to tell you,” he hesitated.
“You don’t have to,” said Florence quickly. “Please allow me to guess. You were about to tell us that it is necessary to spend a great deal of time looking up records and getting papers signed before you have a clear title to this mountain land, and that we can’t have our money until you have your title.”
“That puts it a little strongly,” said Mr. Dobson, smiling a little strangely. “As fast as we can clear up the titles to certain tracts my company has authorized me to pay that portion of the commission. I should say you ought to have your first installment within four months. It may be six, however. Matters move slowly here in the mountains.”
“Four months!” exclaimed Marion.
“Not sooner, I fear.”