The two lean little dogs were
restless, but they made no sound as he led them across the railway. Once on
the other side, he let them smell the shirt, and loosed them, and was about
to mount, when, in the flash of a torch, he saw something in the grass.
"A hatchet!" he said to his companions, picking it up; "and clean, thank
God!"
The men looked at each other, then one said, slowly, "He coulder drowned
her?"
The sheriff did not answer, but followed the dogs that had trotted away
with their noses to the ground.
"I'm sure the nigger came this way," the sheriff said, after a while.
"Those others may find the poor young lady, but I feel sure of the nigger."
One of the men stopped short. "That nigger's got to die," he said.
"Of course," the sheriff answered, "but not by Judge Lynch's court. This
circuit's got a judge that'll hang him lawfully."
"I b'lieve Judge More will," the recalcitrant admitted, and rode on. "But,"
he added, "if I know Mr. John Morris, that nigger's safe to die one way or
another."
They rode more rapidly now, as the dogs had quickened their pace. The moon
had risen, and the riding, for men who hunted recklessly, was not bad.
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