“Yes, land.”
“I thought you were a river-man?”
“I'm a river-man no longer. I am going to be a planter now. But I'll tell you why, and all about it some other day.” Then he held out his hand. “Goodby,” he added.
“Are you going—good-by, Mr. Carrington,” and Betty's fingers tingled with his masterful clasp long after he had gone.
Carrington sauntered slowly down the path to the highroad.
“She didn't ask me to come back—an oversight,” he told himself cheerfully.
Just beyond the gates he met that same young fellow he had seen at New Madrid. Norton nodded good-naturedly as he passed, and Carrington, glancing back, saw that he turned in at Belle Plain. He shrugged his shoulders, and went on his way not rejoicing.
CHAPTER XV. THE SHOOTING-MATCH AT BOGGS'
The judge's faith in the reasonableness of mankind having received a staggering blow, there began a somewhat furtive existence for himself, for Solomon Mahaffy, and for the boy. They kept to little frequented byways, and usually it was the early hours of morning, or the cool of late afternoons when they took the road.