"
"That's the boy I traveled all the way to North Carolina to get for
Fentress. I thought I had him once, but the little cuss gave me
the slip."
"Eh--you don't say?" cried Ware.
"Tom, what do you know about the Quintard lands; what do you know
about Quintard himself?" continued Murrell.
"He was a rich planter, lived in North Carolina. My father met
him when he was in congress and got him to invest in land here.
They had some colonization scheme on foot this was upward of
twenty years ago--but nothing came of it. Ouintard lost
interest."
"And the land?"
"Oh, he held on to that."
"Is there much of it?"
"A hundred thousand acres," said Ware.
Murrell whistled softly under his breath.
"What's it worth?"
"A pot of money, two or three dollars an acre anyhow," answered
Ware.
"Quintard has been dead two years, Tom, and back yonder in North
Carolina they told me he left nothing but the home plantation.
The boy lived there up to the time of Quintard's death, but what
relation he was to the old man no one knew. What do you suppose
Fentress wants with him? He offered me five thousand dollars if
I'd bring him West; and he still wants him, only he's lying low
now to see what comes of the two old sots--he don't want to move
in the dark. Offhand, Tom, I'd say that by getting hold of the
boy Fentress expects to get hold of the Quintard land."
"That's likely," said Ware, then struck by a sudden idea, he
added, "Are you going to take all the risks and let him pocket
the cash? If it's the land he's after, the stake's big enough to
divide.
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