The boy from Misery rode slowly toward Hixon. At times, the moon

struggled out and made the shadows black along the way. At other times,

it was like riding in a huge caldron of pitch. When he passed into that

stretch of country at whose heart Jesse Purvy dwelt, he raised his

voice in song. His singing was very bad, and the ballad lacked tune,

but it served its purpose of saving him from the suspicion of

furtiveness. Though the front of the house was blank, behind its heavy

shutters he knew that his coming might be noted, and night-riding at

this particular spot might be misconstrued in the absence of frank

warning.

The correctness of his inference brought a brief smile to his lips

when he crossed the creek that skirted the orchard, and heard a stable

door creak softly behind him. He was to be followed again--and watched,

but he did not look back or pause to listen for the hoofbeats of his

unsolicited escort. On the soft mud of the road, he would hardly have

heard them, had he bent his ear and drawn rein. He rode at a walk, for

his train would not leave until five o'clock in the morning. There was

time in plenty.

It was cold and depressing as he trudged the empty streets from the

livery stable to the railroad station, carrying his saddlebags over his

arm. His last farewell had been taken when he left the old mule behind

in the rickety livery stable. It had been unemotional, too, but the

ragged creature had raised its stubborn head, and rubbed its soft nose

against his shoulder as though in realization of the parting--and

unwilling realization. He had roughly laid his hand for a moment on the

muzzle, and turned on his heel.

He was all unconscious that he presented a figure which would seem

ludicrous in the great world to which he had looked with such

eagerness. The lamps burned murkily about the railroad station, and a

heavy fog cloaked the hills. At last he heard the whistle and saw the

blazing headlight, and a minute later he had pushed his way into the

smoking-car and dropped his saddlebags on the seat beside him. Then,

for the first time, he saw and recognized his watchers. Purvy meant to

have Samson shadowed as far as Lexington, and his movements from that

point definitely reported. Jim Asberry and Aaron Hollis were the chosen

spies. He did not speak to the two enemies who took seats across the

car, but his face hardened, and his brows came together in a black scowl.

"When I gits back," he promised himself, "you'll be one of the fust

folks I'll look fer, Jim Asberry, damn ye! All I hopes is thet nobody

else don't git ye fust. Ye b'longs ter me."




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