Already there was twilight
in those cool valleys lying within the shadow of mighty hills. A
month and more had elapsed since Bob Yancy's trial. Just two
days later man and boy disappeared from Scratch Hill. This had
served to rouse Murrell to the need of immediate action, but he
found, where Yancy was concerned, Scratch Hill could keep a
secret, while Crenshaw's mouth was closed on any word that might
throw light on the plans of his friend.
"It's plain to my mind, Captain, that Bladen will never get the
boy. I reckon Bob's gone into hiding with him," said the
merchant, with spacious candor.
The fugitives had not gone into hiding, however; they had
traversed the state from east to west, and Murrell was soon on
their trail and pressing forward in pursuit. Reaching the
mountains, he heard of them first as ten days ahead of him and
bound for west Tennessee, the ten days dwindled to a week, the
week became five days, the five days three; and now as he emerged
from the last range of hills he caught sight of them. They were
half a mile distant perhaps, but he was certain that the man and
boy he saw pass about a turn in the road were the man and boy he
had been following for a month.
He was not mistaken. The man was Bob Yancy and the boy was
Hannibal. Yancy had acted with extraordinary decision. He had
sold his few acres at Scratch Hill for a lump sum to Crenshaw--it
was to the latter's credit that the transaction was one in which
he could feel no real pride as a man of business--and just a day
later Yancy and the boy had quitted Scratch Hill in the gray
dawn, and turned their faces westward.
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