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He paused, then added emphatically: "When my detail arrives here, which will probably be in three or four days, you must not be here. You must not be in any place where we can find you." For a little while, Samson looked at the other man with a slow smile of amusement, but soon it died, and his face grew hard and determined. "I'm obliged to you, Callomb," he said, seriously.
"Not that, Samson," she pleaded; "not these mountains where we've been together." "You promised. I want you to go to the Lescotts in New York. In a year, you can come back if you want to; but you must promise that." "I promise," she reluctantly yielded. It was half-past nine o'clock when Samson South and Sidney Callomb rode side by side into Hixon from the east.
They were nothing more nor less than South, masquerading in the uniforms of soldiers. "What orders?" inquired Callomb briefly, joining Samson in the store. "Demand surrender once more then take the courthouse and jail," was the short reply.
Here, in Hixon, he was seeing things from only one angle. He meant to learn something more impartial. Besides being on duty as an officer of militia, Callomb was a Kentuckian, interested in the problems of his Commonwealth, and, when he went back, he knew that his cousin, who occupied the executive mansion at Frankfort, would be interested in his suggestions.
"It might be possible," ventured the Attorney General, "to impeach the Sheriff, and appoint this or some other suitable man to fill the vacancy until the next election." "The Legislature doesn't meet until next winter," objected Callomb. "There is one chance. The Sheriff down there is a sick man. Let us hope he may die."
He recited the day's occurrences, and they sat together on the stile, until the moon had sunk to the ridge top. Captain Sidney Callomb, who had been despatched in command of a militia company to quell the trouble in the mountains, should have been a soldier by profession. All his enthusiasms were martial. His precision was military. His cool eye held a note of command which made itself obeyed.
He did not explain that the venire he had drawn from the jury drum had borne a singularly solid Hollman compaction. "Until the Grand Jury acts, I don't see that we can take any steps." "And," stormed Captain Callomb, "the Grand Jury will, like former Grand Juries, lie down in terror and inactivity.
There was a scowl in his eyes that they did not like, and an arrogant hint of iron laws in the livery he wore, which their instincts distrusted. Callomb saw without being told that over the town lay a sense of portentous tidings. Faces were more sullen than usual. Men fell into scowling knots and groups.
I asked him to give me a safe-conduct, at least until I reached his house, and stated my case. I treated him like an officer and a gentleman, and, unless I'm a poor judge of men, he's going to treat me that way." The Lieutenant sought vainly to dissuade Callomb, but the next day the Captain rode forth, unaccompanied.
The working of his face under the play of alternating doubt, resolution, hatred and insurgency, told the militiaman what a struggle was progressing. At last, Samson's eyes cleared with an expression of discovered solution. "All right, Callomb," he said, briefly, "you won't find me!" He smiled, as he added: "Make as thorough a search as your duty demands. It needn't be perfunctory or superficial.
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