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We got in company with a young South Carolinian just before we got to Cumberland Mountain, and Crenshaw soon knew all about his business. He had been to Tennessee to buy a drove of hogs, but when he got there pork was dearer than he calculated, and he declined purchasing. We concluded he was a prize. Crenshaw winked at me; I understood his idea.
Harleston had been shifting slowly from one foot to the other, feeling behind him for the man with the garrote. He had him located now and the precise position where he was standing one of his own legs was touching Sparrow's. At the instant Crenshaw had finished his question, Harleston suddenly kicked backwards, landing with all the force of his sharp heel full on Sparrow's shin.
Harleston," said a familiar voice, and Crenshaw stepped out in front. "I'm in a better humour now, and more my natural self; I was somewhat peeved in the Collingwood due to late hours, I think. By the way, it isn't an especially pleasant game for the fellow who is it, Mr. Harleston? I'll take your answer for granted or we'll let my distinguished colleague answer for you you know Mr.
Marston came slowly forward until he stood a little behind but sufficiently in view to enable the stranger to see that he himself was covered by an automatic. "For heaven's sake, Crenshaw," said Sparrow, "don't let us get to shooting here! If you wing me, Marston will wing you, and we'll only stir up a mess for ourselves." "Then hand over the letter," said Crenshaw
Crenshaw. They were standing near the bars that gave entrance to the lane. Murrell had left them and was walking briskly down the road toward Crenshaw's store where his horse was tied. She bent down and gave Yancy her slim white hand. "Good-by, Mr. Yancy lift Hannibal so that I can kiss him!" Yancy swung the child aloft. "I think you are such a nice little boy, Hannibal you mustn't forget me!"
"I suppose the flowers are also addressed to you," Crenshaw derided, advancing. "Get back, sir, I'll get the envelope myself." "My dear man," Harleston expostulated, retreating slowly toward the door of the living-room, "I'll let you see the envelope; I've not the slightest objection. Put up your gun, man; I'm not dangerous." "You're not so long as I've got the drop on you!"
"what for home? I tell you the letter is here he took it, didn't he? He was at the cab." "Will you also give your word that you didn't take a letter from the cab?" Crenshaw demanded, turning upon Harleston. "I'll give you nothing since you've asked me in that manner," Harleston replied sharply; "unless you want this." His hand came from under the sheet, and Crenshaw was looking into a levelled 38.
"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.
Crenshaw said I was to have the old sp'otin' rifle," said Hannibal. "You you lived at the Barony?" repeated the judge, and a dull stupid wonder struck through his tone, he passed a shaking hand before his eyes. "How long ago when?" he continued. "I don't know how long it were, but until Uncle Bob carried me away after the old general died."
Crenshaw was so choked with his anger that for a moment he merely sputtered then he relapsed into furious silence, his dark eyes glowing with such hate that Harleston paused and asked a bit curiously: "Why do you take it so hard? It's all in the game and you've lost. You're a poor sort of sport, Crenshaw. You'd be better at ping-pong or croquet.
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