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Updated: May 20, 2025
Bearing on him with all his weight, he loosed his own pajama-cord and tied the man's hands behind him. Next he kicked off his pajama trousers, and with them bound Crenshaw's ankles. Then he dragged him to a chair and plunked him into it, securing him there by a strap. "It's scarcely necessary to gag you," he remarked pleasantly. "In your case, an outcry would be embarrassing only to yourself."
This had served to rouse Murrell to the need of immediate action, but he found, where Yancy was concerned, Scratch Hill could keep a secret, while Crenshaw's mouth was closed on any word that might throw light on the plans of his friend. "It's plain to my mind, Captain, that Bladen will never get the boy. I reckon Bob's gone into hiding with him," said the merchant, with spacious candor.
Instantly the garrote loosened; and Harleston, with a wild yell, sprang forward and swung straight at the point of Crenshaw's jaw.
Crenshaw's wagon, driven by Crenshaw's man, vanished in a cloud of gray dust with the two old slaves, Aunt Alsidia and Uncle Ben, who were being taken to the Crenshaw place to be cared for pending the settlement of the Quintard estate.
"There's money in the old place, Bob, at that figure," Crenshaw told Yancy. "There are so," agreed Yancy, who was thinking Crenshaw had lost no time in getting it out. They were seated on the counter in Crenshaw's store at Balaam's Cross Roads, where the heavy odor of black molasses battled with the sprightly smell of salt fish. The merchant held the Scratch Hiller in no small esteem.
Their intimacy was of long standing, for the Yancys going down and the Crenshaws coming up had for a brief space flourished on the same social level. Mr. Crenshaw's rise in life, however, had been uninterrupted, while Mr.
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