of
armed horsemen, and hears them angrily discoursing. One at their head
he knows to be the Sheriff of the county; beside him his Deputy, and
behind a brace of constables. In rear of these, two men he has reason
to believe will be his most resolute accusers.

He has no time to discriminate; for, soon as entering the enclosure, the
horsemen dismount, and make towards the door of the dwelling.

In less than sixty seconds after, they knock against that of his
sleeping chamber, demanding admission.

No use denying them, as its occupant is well aware--not even to ask--

"Who's there?"

Instead, he says, in accent tremulous--

"Come in."

Instantly after, he sees the door thrown open, and a form filling up its
outlines--the stalwart figure of a Mississippi sheriff; who, as he
stands upon the threshold, says, in firm voice, with tone of legal
authority:

"Richard Darke, I arrest you!"

"For what?" mechanically demands the culprit, shivering in his shirt.

"_For the murder of Charles Clancy_!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE COON-HUNTER CONSCIENCE-STRICKEN.

On the night preceding Richard Darke's arrest, another man, not many
rods distant, lies awake, or, at least, loses more than half his
customary measure of sleep.

This is the coon-hunter. In his case the disturbing cause _is_
conscience; though his crime is comparatively a light one, and should
scarce rob him of his rest. It would not, were he a hardened sinner;
but Blue Bill is the very reverse; and though, at times, cruel to
"coony," he is, in the main, merciful, his breast overflowing with the
milk of human kindness.

On the night succeeding his spoilt coon-chase, he has slept sound
enough, his mind being unburdened by the confession to Phoebe. Besides,
he had then no certain knowledge that a murder had been committed, or of
any one being even killed. He only knew there were shots, and angry
words, resembling a fight between two men; one his young master; the
other, as he supposed, Charles Clancy. True, the former, rushing past
in such headlong pace, seemed to prove that the affair had a tragical
termination.

But of this, he, Blue Bill, could only have conjecture; and, hoping the
_denouement_ might not be so bad as at first deemed, neither was he so
alarmed as to let it interfere with his night's slumbers.

In the morning, when, as usual, hoe in hand, he goes abroad to his day's
work, no one would suspect him of being the depository of a se