“You are under suspicion of concealing in it a fugitive slave. I know that he was hidden in your woodshed”--Rhoda’s heart sank and she felt her eyelids quiver--“as late as this afternoon. But you got him out before we reached there, and came out on this road by a roundabout way. We’ve had our eyes on your father for a long time. And now I reckon we’ve caught him, and you too!” Rhoda looked at him and was able to command a smile. “Excuse me,” she said politely, “but how many did you say you thought I had concealed in this buggy?” “Only one,” the marshal answered curtly. “You can get out if you want to while we examine it.” She jumped to the ground and stood by, smiling, while they took out the rugs and looked under the seat. Disappointed glances passed from one to another. Evidently, they had felt sure they would find the missing slave in her buggy. Rhoda took off her wrap and shook it ostentatiously. “You see, I haven’t got him concealed about my clothing. You can search my pocket too, if you like,” she added innocently. “You’ve beat us this time, young lady,” he responded angrily, “but we know what your father is up to, and you with him, and we’ll get you yet.” She turned upon him with dignity. “May I ask, Mr. Hanscomb, that you will finish your examination of this little buggy where there is scarcely room for one, as soon as possible, so that I can go on. I am on an errand for my father, and I would like to finish it and get home before dark. Perhaps you would like to look under the horse’s collar and split open the whip-stock.” The marshal flushed with annoyance. “All right. You can go on now. But you’d better be careful about taking in any more niggers.” She drove slowly on up the hill and they brought their horses’ heads together for a conference. She was trembling with anxiety lest it might occur to them to search the woodland on the west of the road, and she wanted to know what they were going to do before she would have to pass out of sight down the other side of the hill. To gain time she dropped her whip, and jumped out to get it. Then she adjusted a buckle in the harness and examined a thill strap. A stolen glance let her see that they were starting back toward the town. But now a new anxiety filled her. Did they know of the cave? Would they think of it as a possible hiding place? The cave was such a little one,--it was of no interest to any one but children--perhaps they had never heard of it, or had forgotten it if they had. She longed to look around and see if they stopped, but she feared to show interest in their movements, lest she might renew their suspicions. Had the boy left footprints as he ran from the buggy to the fence? She tried to remember whether the ground there was hard or muddy, but could recall nothing. In an agony of apprehension she reached the top of the hill and started down the descent.