"I say I’ll not—never! You think me a child, and I was, but you have made me something more. Don’t come near me! I’ll never let you take me alive!" I screamed, as he took a step in my direction, my anger growing to white heat. "Tut, tut, child! Do not fly into such a passion. Listen to reason. I am not going to harm you," he replied, soothingly. "What is all this about, anyway?" the man who had been seated beside Moth here interposed, coming forward and holding the lantern aloft so as to see me the better. "Good God! lad, what is the matter with your face?" he went on. "You look as if you had been run over by a harrow." "It was scratched in the woods," I replied, quieting down. "Why, it is seamed and slashed like a piece of raw meat. No, no, the brush never did that, lad!" he went on, examining it more carefully. "It’s nothing, sir, and will be all right in the morning," I answered. "Maybe, but for fear I’ll rub some salve on it to help it along," he answered; and going to a small cupboard, brought back a cup of grease, which he smeared over my face. "There, that will do for to-night, and in the morning I will dress it again." "You are foolish to waste grease or sympathy on him, jailer," Moth interposed. "That is the lad we have been looking for all day, and a precious sly one he is, too." "Well, he does not look it," the jailer answered, "but frank about the eyes as my own boy, though his face is not much to speak of in its present shape." "I’m as honest, sir, as I can be, and this man has no business to say I’m not, nor claim any rights over me," I answered, appealingly. "Do not let him fool you, jailer. Those brown eyes of his have more deviltry in them than there is in that highwayman’s whole body," Moth answered, looking across at the man in the corner, who had straightened up and now sat silently regarding us. "I’m not bad," I cried, laying hold of the jailer’s hand, "and I haven’t harmed any one, nor taken what didn’t belong to me." "I am sure of it," he answered, kindly. "I told you he would fool you, for in cunning and evasion he is Satan’s own imp," Moth answered, anger showing in his voice. "Don’t believe him," I answered. "He has no right to pursue me as he does. He’s not my guardian." "Who is your guardian, and where is he?" the jailer asked, as if that would settle it. "Uncle Job Throckmorton, and he lives in Appletop. He left me at Rock Island till he could come back, and yesterday this man planned to kidnap me, and that’s why I ran away," I answered, determined to tell my story. "I know Mr. Throckmorton, and he is an upright, honest gentleman, if there is one in the state," the jailer replied. "Then don’t let this man pursue me longer," I answered, "for he has no right."