Jack paused on the steps, a beautiful figure with supple, slender limbs, high, white brow under waving curls. Even at that distance, and through the lowering mists which lay on the grass like downy feathers dropped from the wings of dawn, the two men marked the boy's expression of startled surprise over being so peremptorily stopped. He sat down on the steps, his beautiful eyes fixed inquiringly on his father. “I'd send that boy off, anyway,” Purvynes said, as if thinking for himself. “You say you would!” slowly and from a mouth that twitched. “What do you mean by--that?” “I mean all the niggers know how you dote on 'im, Jim. I've heard folks say that they didn't believe you ever loved any other human alive or dead. The niggers that got up that warnin' wouldn't hesitate to strike at you even through a purty innocent chap like that.” Hoag dropped his stare to the ground. He clutched a paling with a pulseless hand and leaned forward. “I reckon maybe you are right,” he muttered. “I've heard of 'em doin' the like, even kidnappin' an' makin' threats of bodily torture.” Hoag glanced at his son again, and, catching his eyes, he waved his hand and forced a smile. “I'm comin'!” he called out. “See if our breakfast is ready. We'll have it together.” He was turning away as if forgetful of the caller's presence, when Purvynes stopped him. “What about that money, Jim?” he inquired, slowly, desperately. “I can't let you have it,” was Hoag's ultimatum, in a rising tone of blended despair and surliness. “We've got to fix some way to head this thing off an' must stand together. Your folks will have to be reasonable. I'll come over an' talk to--” “No, no, no, no!” in rapid-fire. “Don't come about, Jim. That would scare 'em worse than ever. They was afraid some nigger might see me here this mornin', an' if you was to come--” “Huh, I'll be looked on like a leper in a pest-house 'fore long, I reckon!” Hoag snarled, but perhaps not so much from anger as from a sense of the fitness of the remark. “Well, don't come, Jim,” Purvynes repeated, bluntly. “If you hain't got no money for me, all well an' good, but don't come about. My women are crazy, an' the sight of you wouldn't help at all.” CHAPTER XXIV |IN the few days immediately following this incident Hoag became convinced that he had reached the gravest crisis of his career. For the first time in his experience his helplessness was as real a thing as had been his prowess in the past. A drab veil reeking with despair seemed to hang between him and every visible object. He looked in stunned amazement at the people who were going on with their daily duties as if nothing serious had happened or was impending. He saw them smile, heard them laugh, and noted their interest in the smallest details.