“Well, no, Mas'r; seems like they ain't so thick here recently.” “I reckon you'd better keep away from the big house yet a while,” said Carrington. “Instead of going there, stop at the Belle Plain landing. You'll find a raft tied up to the shore, it belongs to a man named Cavendish. Tell him what you know. That I've found Miss Malroy and the boy, tell him to cast off and drift down here. I'll run the keel boat aground the first chance I get, so tell him to keep a sharp lookout.” A few minutes later they had separated, George to hurry away in search of the horse, and Carrington to pass back along the shore until he gained a point opposite the clearing. He whistled shrilly three times, and after an interval of waiting heard the splash of oars and presently saw a skiff steal out of the gloom. “Who's there?” It was Bess who asked the question. “Carrington,” he answered. “Lucky you ain't met the other man!” she said as she swept her skiff alongside the bank. “Lucky for him, you mean. I'll take the oars,” added Carrington as he entered the skiff. Slowly the clearing lifted out of the darkness, then the keel boat became distinguishable; and Carrington checked the skiff by a backward stroke of the oars. “Hello!” he called. There was no immediate answer to his hail, and he called again as he sent the skiff forward. He felt that he was risking all now. “What do you want?” asked a surly voice. “You want Slosson!” quickly prompted the girl in a whisper. “I want to see Slosson!” said Carrington glibly and with confidence, and once more he checked the skiff. “Who be you?” “Murrell sent you,” prompted the girl again, in a hurried whisper. “Murrell--” And in his astonishment Carrington spoke aloud. “Murrell?” cried the voice sharply. “--sent me!” said Carrington quickly, as though completing an unfinished sentence. The girl laughed nervously under her breath. “Row closter!” came the sullen command, and the Kentuckian did as he was bidden. Four men stood in the bow of the keel boat, a lantern was raised aloft and by its light they looked him over. There was a moment's silence broken by Carrington, who asked: “Which one of you is Slosson?” And he sprang lightly aboard the keel boat. “I'm Slosson,” answered the man with the lantern. The previous night Mr. Slosson had been somewhat under the enlivening and elevating influence of corn whisky, but now he was his own cheerless self, and rather jaded by the passing of the hours which he had sacrificed to an irksome responsibility. “What word do you fetch from the Captain, brother?” he demanded. “Miss Malroy is to be taken down river,” responded Carrington. Slosson swore with surpassing fluency.