“In the fus’ place you are foun’ guilty of associatin’ with Northern abolitionists; besides that, they have so far corrupted your better judgment as to cause you to become a party to runnin’ off slaves.” “Now, Mr. Maxwell, bein’ a British subjec’, you may not know that in the South sech actions is accountable with murder and becomes a hangin’ affair. Because of your ignorance of our laws, and, whereas, you have fallen into evil company, we will give you a show for your life if you will own up and tell all you know, and help us to recover our property; otherwise, sorry as I should be to deal harshly with a gentleman of your cloth, the law mus’ take its course.” “I am aware that I can expect no mercy at your hands. I have spoken freely and stated my honest convictions.” “An’ free enough you’ve been, by gosh!” said Gideon, again breaking in. Just at this point two men rode out of the woods leading a horse that Warren recognized. It was the parson’s. “Where’s he at?” queried Bill. “Dead’s a hammer,” answered the one in charge, at whose side dangled the pistols of the “fighting parson.” “Sure?” “Sure.” “Git anything out of him about my niggers?” “No use, Bill; they’re up to Brown’s camp. Nex’ week they’ll be in Canidy.” “Well, this one won’t escape,” said Bill, with a great oath, and a black, lowering look at the prisoner. Without more talk, Warren was lifted to the back of the parson’s horse and firmly bound. Then began a long, wild ride through the night in darkness and silence, bound, helpless, stabbed by every stumble. Sometimes they trotted on high ground, sometimes the horses were up to their knees in the bog; and once Warren felt a heave of his horse’s flanks, and heard the wash of water as if the animals were swimming. He tried to collect his thoughts; he tried to pray, but his mind would wander, and with the pain from his wound and the loss of blood, he was half-delirious. His thoughts were a jumble of hideous pictures. Meanwhile, Sam and Dan talked together in whispers. “Fifteen hundred dollars for the slaves or the slave-stealer, dead or alive, that’s what the Colonel has advertised.” “A right smart o’ money,” replied Dan, “an’ only eight o’ us to git it.” “Kin’ o’ sorry ’bout the parson. It’ll make again us up North,” continued Sam. “Ya-as, that’s so, fur a fac’,” acquiesced Dave. “An’ what a hunter he was, shoot the wink off yer eye! O, Lord, warn’t he chock full o’ grit. Min’ the time he says to Bill, ‘you ride fas’, but Death’ll cotch you, an’ after death the judgmen’!” queried Sam. Dan chuckled at the recollection. “Got the dead wood on Bill then, I reckon.” “You bet!” replied Sam, with emphasis. “Dear, dear, ain’t it turrible fur’t have’t do a man like that mean!” continued Dan. “But ’twould be turrible to lost the money. I can’t tell which would be turriblest!” “That’s a fac’.” “Who’s that fool gabin’?” came in a fierce whisper from the front. Then followed silence.