"She sho'ly is a lady!" said Yancy, staring after her. "And we
mustn't forget Memphis or Belle Plain, Nevvy."
Crenshaw and the squire approached.
"Bob," said the merchant, "Bladen's going to have the boy--but he
made a mistake in putting this business in the hands of a fool
like Dave Blount. I reckon he knows that now."
"I reckon his next move will be to send a posse of gun-toters up
from Fayetteville," said the squire.
"That's just what he'll do," agreed Crenshaw, and looked
disturbed.
"They certainly air an unpeaceable lot--them Fayetteville folks!
It's always seemed to me they had a positive spite agin this end
of the county," said the squire, and he pocketed his spectacles
and refreshed himself with a chew of tobacco. "Bladen ain't
actin' right, Bob. It's a year and upwards since the old general
'died. He let you go on thinking the boy was to stay with you
and now he takes a notion to have him!"
"No, sir, it ain't right nor reasonable. And what's more, he
shan't have him!" said Yancy, and his tone was final.
"I don't know what kind of a mess you're getting yourself into,
Bob, I declare I don't!" cried Crenshaw, who felt that he was
largely responsible for the whole situation.
"Looks like your neighbors would stand by you," suggested the
squire.
"I don't want them to stand by me. It'll only get them into
trouble, and I ain't going to do that," rejoined Yancy, and
lapsed into momentary silence. Then he resumed meditatively,
"There was old Baldy Ebersole who shot the sheriff when they
tried to arrest him for getting drunk down in Fayetteville and
licking the tavern-keeper--"
"Sho', there wa'n't no harm in Baldy!" said the squire, with
heat.
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