In their minds the remembrance of that fatal frolic was as vivid as ever, having been periodically refreshed by an annual disbursement of a hundred dollars each. With the exacting spirit of a Shylock, Jerry Rook had continued to hold them to their contract; and if at any time remonstrance was made, it was soon silenced, by his pointing to an oblong mound of earth, rudely resembling a grave, under that tree where he had held his last conversation with _his friend_, Dick Tarleton. The inference was that the remains of Pierre Robideau were deposited beneath that sod, and could at any time be disinterred to give damning evidence of his death. Remonstrance was rarely made. Most of the contributors to Jerry Rook's income had become masters of their own substance. Still, the compulsory payment of a hundred dollars each was like the annual drawing of a tooth; all the more painful from the reflection of what it was for, and the knowledge as long as their creditor lived there was no chance of escaping it. Painful as it was, however, they continued to pay it more punctually than they would have done had it been a debt recoverable by court, or an obligation of honour. They were not all equally patient under the screw thus periodically put upon them. There were two more especially inclined to kick out of the terrible traces that chafed them. These were Bill Buck, the son of the horse-dealer, and Slaughter, who kept the "Helena Tavern," his father being defunct. Neither had greatly prospered in the world, and to both the sum of a hundred dollars a-year was a tax worth considering. In their conversations with one another, they had discussed this question, and more than once had been heard to hint at some dark design by which the impost might be removed. These hints were only made in presence of their partners in the secret compact, and never within earshot of Jerry Rook. It is true they were discouraged by the others less harassed by the tax, and, therefore, Jess tempted to take any sinister step towards removing it. They had enough to torment them already. Both Buck and Slaughter were capable of committing crimes even deeper than that already on their conscience. Six years had not changed them for the better. On the contrary, they had become worse, both being distinguished as among the most dissolute members of the community. A similar account might be given of the other four; though these, figuring in positions of greater respectability, kept their characters a little better disguised. Two of their fathers were also dead--Randall, the judge, and Spence, the Episcopalian clergyman, while their sons, less respected than they, were not likely to succeed to their places. Brandon's father still lived, though drink was fast carrying him to the grave, and his son was congratulating himself on the proximity of an event that would make him sole master of himself as also of a cotton plantation.