“Lawd—what's that?”
Carrington, knife in hand swung about on his heel. A lantern's light flashed suddenly in his face and Bess Hicks, with a low startled cry breaking from her lips, paused in the doorway. Springing forward, Carrington seized her by the wrist.
“Hush!” he grimly warned.
“What are you doin' here?” demanded the girl, as she endeavored to shake off his hand, but Carrington drew her into the shed, and closing the door, set his back against it. There was a brief silence during which Bess regarded the Kentuckian with a kind of stolid fearlessness. She was the first to speak. “I reckon you-all have come after Miss Malroy,” she observed quietly.
“Then you reckon right,” answered Carrington. The girl studied him from beneath her level brows.
“And you-all think you can take her away from here,” she speculated. “I ain't afraid of yo' knife—you-all might use it fast enough on a man, but not on me. I'll help you,” she added. Carrington gave her an incredulous glance. “You don't believe me? What's to hinder my calling for help? That would fetch our men up from the keel boat. No—yo'-all's knife wouldn't stop me!”
“Don't be too sure of that,” said Carrington sternly. The girl met the menace of his words with soft, fullthroated laughter.
“Why, yo' hand's shakin' now, Mr. Carrington!”
“You know me?”
“Yes, I seen you once at Boggs'.” She made an impatient movement. “You can't do nothing against them fo' men unless I help you. Miss Malroy's to go down river to-night; they're only waiting fo' a pilot—you-all's got to act quick!”