"I certainly am obliged to you," said Hannibal, and with a good night,
Eph retired, closing the door after him, and the boy heard the patter of
his bare feet as he scuttled down the hall.

The moon was rising and Hannibal went to the open window and glanced
out. His room overlooked the back yard of the inn and a neglected truck
patch. Starting from a point beyond the truck patch and leading straight
away to the woodland beyond was a fenced lane, with the corn-field and
the pasture-lot on either hand. Immediately below his window was the
steeply slanting roof of a shed. For a moment he considered the night,
not unaffected by its beauty, then, turning from the window, he moved
his bundle and rifle to the foot of the bed, where they would be out of
his way, kicked off his trousers, blew out the candle and lay down. The
gossip of the men in the bar ran like a whisper through the house, and
with it came frequent bursts of noisy laughter. Listening for these
sounds the boy dozed off.

Yancy had become more and more convinced as the evening passed that
Murrell was bent on getting him drunk, and suspicion mounted darkly to
his brain. He felt certain that he was Bladen's agent. Now, Mr. Yancy
took an innocent pride in his ability to "cool off liquor." Perhaps it
was some heritage from a well living ancestry that had hardened its head
with Port and Madeira in the days when the Yancys owned their acres and
their slaves. Be that as it may, he was equal to the task he had set
himself. He saw with satisfaction the flush mount to Murrell's swarthy
cheeks, and felt that the limit of his capacity was being reached.
Mr. Slosson had become a sort of Greek chorus. He anticipated all the
possible phases of drunkenness that awaited his companions. He went from
silence to noisy mirth, when his unmeaning laughter rang through the
house; he told long witless stories as he leaned against the bar; he
became melancholy and described the loss of his wife five years before.
From melancholy he passed to sullenness and seemed ready to fasten a
quarrel on Yancy, but the latter deftly evaded any such issue.

"What you-all want is another drink," he said affably. "With all you
been through you need a tonic, so shove along that extract of cornshucks
and molasses!"

"I'm a rip-staver," said Slosson thickly. "But I've knowed enough sorrow
to kill a horse."

"You have that look. Captain, will you join us?" asked Yancy. Murrell
shook his head, but he m