At length the dip of oars became audible in the silence and one
of the trio stole down the path, a matter of fifty yards, to a
point that overlooked the bayou. He was gone but a moment.
"It's Murrell all right!" he said in an eager whisper. "Him and
another fellow--the Hicks girl is rowing them." He glanced from
one to the other of his companions, who seemed to take firmer
hold of themselves under his eye. "It'll be all right," he
protested lightly. "He's as good as ours. Wait till I give you
the word." And he led the way into an adjacent thicket.
Meantime Ware and Murrell had landed and were coming along the
path, the outlaw a step or two in advance of his friend. They
reached the horses and were untying them when the thicket
suddenly disgorged the three men; each held a cocked pistol; two
of these pistols covered Murrell and the third was leveled at
Ware.
"Hues!" cried Murrell in astonishment, for the man confronting
him was the Clan's messenger who should have been speeding across
the state.
"Toss up your hands, Murrell," said Hues quietly.
One of the other men spoke.
"You are under arrest!"
"Arrest!"
"You are wanted for nigger-stealing," said the man. Still
Murrell did not seem to comprehend. He looked at Hues in dull
wonder.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"Waiting to arrest you--ain't that plain?" said Hues, with a grim
smile.
The outlaw's hands dropped at his side, limp and helpless.
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