“I know better ’n dat!” declared the old woman, emphatically. “You does too, don’t you, my Mistis?” At which Ruth stammered, “Why, yes,” and only blushed the more. She looked so really distressed that Steve said: “Come, Mammy, you mustn’t embarrass your young Mistress.” “Nor, indeed—dat I won’t. But you see dyah, you done call her _my_ young Mistis!” laughed the old woman, enjoying hugely the confusion of both her visitors. “It was time to go,” Steve said. So as the storm had passed, they came out and he saddled Ruth’s horse and handed her into the saddle. He spoke a few words to the old woman, to which she gave a quick affirmative reply. As they rode off, she said, “You mus’ come again,” which both of them promised and doubtless intended to do. The woods were sparkling with the raindrops, and the sky was as if it had just been newly washed and burnished, and the earth was covered with water which shone in the light of the setting sun, like pools of crystal. Steve bade Miss Welch good-by at her gate. He had scarcely gotten out of sight of her when he changed his easy canter to a long gallop, and a look of grim determination deepened on his face. At the first byway he turned off from the main-road and made his way by bridle-paths back to the point where he had rescued Miss Welch. Here he tied his horse and began to examine the bushes carefully. He was able at first to follow the track that the negro had made in his flight; but after a little distance it became more difficult. The storm had obliterated the traces. So Steve returned to the point where he had left his horse, remounted and rode away. He visited Andy Stamper’s and several other plantations, at all of which he stopped, but only for a few moments to speak a word or two to the men at each, and then galloped on to the next, his face still grim and his voice intense with determination. That night a small band of horsemen rode through the Bend, visiting house after house. They asked for Moses, the trick-doctor. But Moses was not there. He had left early the morning before, their informants said, and had not been back since. There was no doubt as to the truth of this. There was something about that body of horsemen, small though it was, riding in pairs, that impressed whomever they accosted, and it was evident that their informants meant to tell the truth. If, on the first summons at a door, the inmates peered out curious and loud-mouthed, they quieted down at the first glance at the silent horsemen outside. “What you want with him?” asked one of the men, inquisitively. Almost instantly, as if by machinery, two horsemen moved silently in behind him and cut him out from the group behind. “You know where he is? Come along.” Their hands were on his collar. “Nor, suh, b’fo’ Gord I don’t, gentmens,” protested the negro, almost paralyzed with fright. “I didn’t mean nuttin’ in the worl’, gentmens.”