"This is the gentleman you wish to see," he said. and
stepped to one of the windows; it overlooked the terraces where
he had said good-by to Betty scarcely a week before.
The two men had paused by the door. They now advanced. One was
gaunt and haggard, his face disfigured by a great red scar, the
other was a shockheaded individual who moved with a shambling
gait. Both carried rifles and both were dressed in coarse
homespun.
"Morning, sir," said the man with the scar. "Yancy's my name,
and this gentleman 'lows he'd rather be known now as Mr.
Cavendish."
The judge started to his feet.
"Bob Yancy?" he cried.
"Yes, sir, that's me." The judge passed nimbly around the desk
and shook the Scratch Hiller warmly by the hand. "Where's my
nevvy, sir--what's all this about him and Miss Betty?" Yancy's
soft drawl was suddenly eager.
"Please God we'll recover him soon!" said the judge.
By the window Carrington moved impatiently. No harm could come
to the boy, but Betty--a shudder went through him.
"They've stolen him." Yancy spoke with conviction. "I reckon
they've started back to No'th Carolina with him--only that don't
explain what's come of Miss Betty, does it?" and he dropped
rather helplessly into a chair.
"Bob are just getting off a sick bed. He's been powerful porely
in consequence of having his head laid open and then being
throwed into the Elk River, where I fished him out," explained
Cavendish, who still continued to regard the judge with unmixed
astonishment, first cocking his shaggy head on one side and then
on the other, his bleached eyes narrowed to a slit.
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