"I wouldn't lift my hand ag'in no good
looking female except in kindness."
"How dare you stop my carriage?" cried Betty, with a very genuine
anger which for the moment dominated all her other emotions. She
struggled to her feet, but Slosson put out a heavy hand and
thrust her back.
"There now," he urged soothingly. "Why make a fuss? We ain't
going to harm you; we wouldn't for no sum of money. Drive on,
Jim--drive like hell!" This last was addressed to the man who
had taken George's place on the box, where a fourth member of
Slosson's band had forced the coachman down into the narrow space
between the seat and dashboard, and was holding a pistol to his
head while he sternly enjoined silence.
With a word to the horses Jim swung about and the carriage rolled
off through the night at a breakneck' pace. Betty's shaking
hands drew Hannibal closer to her side as she felt the surge of
her terrors rise within her. Who were these men--where could
they be taking her--and for what purpose? The events of the past
weeks linked themselves in tragic sequence in her mind.
What was it she had to fear? Was it Tom who had inspired
Norton's murder? Was it Tom for whom these men were acting? Tom
who would profit greatly by her disappearance or death.
They swept past the entrance at Belle Plain, past a break in the
wall of the forest where the pale light of stars showed Betty the
corn-field she and Hannibal had but lately crossed, and then on
into pitchy darkness again.
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