you'll stop here, Miss Malroy?" he said, indicating the
tavern before which the stage had come to a stand. "Yes," said Betty
briefly.

"If I can be of any service to you--" he began, with just a touch of
awkwardness in his manner.

"No, I thank you, Mr. Carrington," said Betty quickly.

"Good night... good-by," he turned away, and Betty saw his tall form
disappear in the twilight.

CHAPTER VII. THE FIGHT AT SLOSSON'S TAVERN

Murrell had ridden out of the hills some hours back. He now faced the
flashing splendors of a June sunset, but along the eastern horizon
the mountains rose against a somber sky. Night was creeping into their
fastnesses. Already there was twilight in those cool valleys lying
within the shadow of mighty hills. A month and more had elapsed since
Bob Yancy's trial. Just two days later man and boy disappeared from
Scratch Hill. This had served to rouse Murrell to the need of immediate
action, but he found, where Yancy was concerned, Scratch Hill could keep
a secret, while Crenshaw's mouth was closed on any word that might throw
light on the plans of his friend.

"It's plain to my mind, Captain, that Bladen will never get the boy.
I reckon Bob's gone into hiding with him," said the merchant, with
spacious candor.

The fugitives had not gone into hiding, however; they had traversed
the state from east to west, and Murrell was soon on their trail and
pressing forward in pursuit. Reaching the mountains, he heard of them
first as ten days ahead of him and bound for west Tennessee, the ten
days dwindled to a week, the week became five days, the five days three;
and now as he emerged from the last range of hills he caught sight of
them. They were half a mile distant perhaps, but he was certain that the
man and boy he saw pass about a turn in the road were the man and boy he
had been following for a month.

He was not mistaken. The man was Bob Yancy and the boy was Hannibal.
Yancy had acted with extraordinary decision. He had sold his few acres
at Scratch Hill for a lump sum to Crenshaw--it was to the latter's
credit that the transaction was one in which he could feel no real pride
as a man of business--and just a day later Yancy and the boy had
quitted Scratch Hill in the gray dawn, and turned their faces westward.
Tennessee had become their objective point, since here was a region to
which they could fix a name, while the rest of the world was strange to
them. As they passed the turn in the roa