Just at daybreak Yancy was roused by the pressure of a hand on
his shoulder, and opening his eyes saw that the judge was bending
over him.
"Dress!" he said briefly. "There's every prospect of trouble
--get your rifle and come with me!"
Yancy noted that this prospect of trouble seemed to afford the
judge a pleasurable sensation; indeed, he had quite lost his
former air of somber and suppressed melancholy.
"I let you sleep, thinking you needed the rest," the judge went
on. "But ever since midnight we've been on the verge of riot and
possible bloodshed. They've arrested John Murrell--it's claimed
he's planned a servile rebellion! A man named Hues, who had
wormed his way into his confidence, made the arrest. He carried
Murrell into Memphis, but the local magistrate, intimidated, most
likely, declined to have anything to do with holding him. In
spite of this, Hues managed to get his prisoner lodged in jail,
but along about nightfall the situation began to look serious.
Folks were swarming into town armed to the teeth, and Hues
fetched Murrell across country to Raleigh--"
"Yes?" said Yancy.
"Well, the sheriff has refused to take Murrell into custody.
Hues has him down at the court-house, but whether or not he is
going to be able to hold him is another matter!"
Yancy and Hannibal had dressed by this time, and the judge led
the way from the house. The Scratch Hiller looked about him.
Across the street a group of men, the greater number of whom were
armed, stood in front of Pegloe's tavern.
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