"I arrest you," he said; "come on."
"That's the feller," confirmed one of the guard; "I've seen him at Mr.
Morris's place."
"Tie him," the sheriff ordered, "while I git that gun. Give it to me, old
man, or I'll take you to jail too." It was yielded up--an old-time
rifle--and the sheriff smashed it against the side of the chimney, throwing
the remnants into the fire. "Lead on," he said, and the young negro was
taken outside. Quickly he was lifted on to a horse and tied there, while
the former rider mounted behind one of his companions, and they rode out of
the settlement into the woods.
"Git into the shadows," one said; "they might be fools enough to shoot."
Once in the road, the sheriff called a halt. "One of you must ride; back to
Mr. Morris's place and collect the other search-parties, while we make for
Pineville jail. Now, Abram, come on."
"I ent done nuttin', Mr. Parin, suh," the negro urged. "I ent hot Mis'
Morris."
"Who said anything 'bout Mrs. Morris?" was asked, sharply.
The negro groaned.
"You're hanging yourself, boy," the sheriff said; "but since you know,
where _is_ Mrs.
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