Betty made a sign to Hannibal and he passed slowly back along the path. He went unwillingly, and he kept his head turned that he might see what was done, even if he were not to hear what was said.
“That will do, Hannibal—wait there—don't go any farther!” Betty called after him when he had reached a point sufficiently distant to be out of hearing of a conversation carried on in an ordinary tone. “Now, what is it? Speak quickly if you have anything to tell me!”
“I got a heap to say,” answered the girl with a scowl. Her manner was still fierce and repellent, and she gave Betty a certain jealous regard out of her black eyes which the latter was at a loss to explain. “Where's Mr. Tom?” she demanded.
“Tom? Why, about the place, I suppose—in his office, perhaps.” So it had to do with Tom.... Betty felt sudden disgust with the situation.
“No, he ain't about the place, either! He done struck out for Memphis two hours after sun-up, and what's more, he ain't coming back here to-night—” There was a moment of silence. The girl looked about apprehensively. She continued, fixing her black eyes on Betty: “You're here alone at Belle Plain—you know what happened when Mr. Tom started for Memphis last time? I reckon you-all ain't forgot that!”
Betty felt a pallor steal over her face. She rested a hand that shook on the trunk of a tree to steady herself. The girl laughed shortly.
“Don't be so scared; I reckon Belle Plain's as good as his if anything happened to you?”
By a great effort Betty gained a measure of control over herself. She took a step nearer and looked the girl steadily in the face.
“Perhaps you will stop this sort of talk, and tell me what is going to happen to me—if you know?” she said quietly.
“Why do you reckon Mr. Norton was shot? I can tell you why—it was all along of you—that was why!” The girl's furtive glance, which searched and watched the gathering shadows, came back as it always did to Betty's pale face. “You ain't no safer than he was, I tell you!” and she sucked in her breath sharply between her full red lips.