The act was
instinctive, since there was no reason to believe that the
captain had the least interest in the boy. Smilingly Murrell
reined in his horse.
"Why--Bob Yancy!" he cried, in apparent astonishment.
"Yes, sir--Bob Yancy. Does it happen you are looking fo' him,
Captain?" inquired Yancy.
"No--no, Bob. I'm on my way West. Shake hands." His manner was
frank and winning, and Yancy met it with an equal frankness.
"Well, sir, me and my nevvy are glad to meet some one we've
knowed afore. The world are a lonesome place once you get shut
of yo'r own dooryard," he said. Murrell slipped from his saddle
and fell into step at Yancy's side as they moved forward.
"They were mightily stirred up at the Cross Roads when I left,
wondering what had come of you," he observed.
"When did you quit there?" asked Yancy.
"About a fortnight ago," said Murrell. "Every one approves of
your action in this matter, Yancy," he went on.
"That's kind of them," responded Yancy, a little dryly. There
was no reason for it, but he was becoming distrustful of Murrell,
and uneasy.
"Bladen's hurt himself by the stand he's taken it this matter,"
Murrell added.
They went forward in silence, Yancy brooding and suspicious. For
the last mile or so their way had led through an unbroken forest,
but a sudden turn in the road brought them to the edge of an
extensive clearing. Close to the road were several buildings,
but not a tree had been spared to shelter them and they stood
forth starkly, the completing touch to a civilization that was
still in its youth, unkempt, rather savage, and ruthlessly
utilitarian.
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