“I’ll do my best, John. We’re running a terrible risk, though. Sometimes, when I think of the sins of this so-called free government, all committed in the name of Liberty, I long to turn rebel, and do my best to destroy it, root and branch.” “I had a husban’ once, suh. But massa tuk a liken’ to me, so he sol’ him down Souf,” said the fugitive. “And this baby?” “Is my massa’s own coon. Massa wouldn’t ’a’ sol’ him nohow.” “Be quick!” cried Jean, her breath hot with indignation. “Hide yourself! You mustn’t let the teamsters see you here. They’re coming in with the cattle now.” “Gimme some quilts an’ blankets, honey. Dah! Hol’ ’em up, so! Now lemme make an Injun wickiup in one end o’ dis yah wagon. Geo’ge Washin’t’n ’ll be still as a lamb. Won’t ye, my putty ’ittle yallow coon?” The baby, with its tawny skin, blue eyes, and blackish-brown, tangled curls, looked elfish as he nestled close to his mother’s breast and gazed affrighted into her turban-shaded eyes. “Sh-sh-sh!” cried Jean; “the men are almost here. Keep close to your den and be very quiet.” * * * * * Day after day passed wearily along; but if the teamsters suspected aught, they made no sign. And day after day the teams wended their way westward without betraying the commission of this crime against the commonwealth of the great new State of Missouri and the free government of the United States of America, which it would have been base flattery to call a misdemeanor; as its perpetrators would have learned to their cost if they had been caught in the act. * * * * * “You don’t seem as happy as formerly,” said Captain Ranger to his wife at the close of a long and trying day. “If the risk we’re running by harboring that runaway nigger is making you uneasy, we can turn her out. A man’s first duty is to his own flesh and blood.” “It isn’t that, John. The woman is no trouble; and her baby’s so afraid of bloodhounds that she keeps him as quiet as a mouse. I’m willing to risk my life to get them both away from their white owners and out into the Indians’ country, where they may have at least comparative freedom. I am not afraid.” “Then what is the matter, dear?” She toyed caressingly with his hair and beard, but said nothing. They were seated on a log by the roadside, and a laughing rivulet sprawled at their feet. “Speak, Annie; don’t hesitate. I can hear your heart beat. What’s the matter?” “You remember my little farm, John? It’s only ten acres, you know.” “Yes; what of it?” “You won’t be angry, John?” “Of course not. What about it?” “I want to deed the place over to my mother before we leave the State o’ Missouri.” His manner changed instantly. “I thought that matter was settled,” he said tersely. “Can’t you let me have a little peace?” “I have held my peace as long as my conscience will let me, dear. You didn’t settle anything about it. You merely put me off, you know.” “Well?”