"Jugs," he began, addressing the prisoner smilingly, "dear old Jugs, to think we should meet again! Since you handed me that jug on the rear end of the train, a few nights ago, life has had new meanings for me, and I'm just as sorry as can be that I gave you the buttermilk. I wouldn't have done such a thing for billions in real money. And now that you have fallen into the excellent hands of Miss Dangerfield--" "Dangerfield!" screamed the prisoner, lifting himself as high in the saddle as his bonds would permit. "Certainly," replied Ardmore. "Your rescuer is none other than Miss Geraldine Dangerfield." "Why, gal," began the outlaw, "ef your pa's the guv'nor of No'th Caroline, him an' me's old frien's." "Then will you kindly tell me your name?" asked Jerry. "Allow me to complete the introductions," interrupted Collins, who had hung back in silence. "Unless my eyes deceive me, which is wholly improbable, this is a gentleman whom I once interviewed in the county jail at Raleigh, and he was known at that time as William Appleweight, _alias_ Poteet." "You air right," admitted the prisoner without hesitation, and then, addressing Jerry: "Yer pa would be glad to know his dorter had helped an ole frien' like me, gal. Ye may hev heard him speak o' me." "But how about that message in the cork of the jug you put on the train at Kildare?" demanded Ardmore. "And why did you send your brother to try to scare me to death at Raleigh?" "That is not the slightest importance," interrupted Jerry, gently playing with the tether which held Mr. Appleweight; "nor does it matter that papa and this gentleman are friends. If this is, indeed, the famous outlaw, Mr. William Appleweight, then, papa or no papa, friend or no friend, he is a prisoner of the state of North Carolina." "Pris'ner!" bawled Appleweight,--"an' you the guv'nor's gal--" "You have hit the situation exactly, Mr. Appleweight; and as far as the office of governor is concerned, it is capably filled by the young gentleman on your left, Mr. Thomas Ardmore. Let us now adjourn to his house, where, if I am not mistaken, a bit of cold fowl is usually to be found on the sideboard at this hour. But hold"--and Jerry checked her horse--"where can we lodge this gentleman, Mr. Ardmore, until we decide upon his further fate?" "We might put him in the wine cellar," suggested Ardmore. "No," interposed Collins. "I fancy that much of your fluid stock has paid revenue tax, and most of it has passed none too lightly through the custom-house. It would be unwarrantably cruel to lock Mr. Appleweight in such quarters, with the visible marks of taxation all around him. Still, the sight of the stamps would probably destroy his thirst, though his rugged independence might so far assert itself that he would smash a few of your most expensive importations out of sheer deviltry."