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Updated: May 13, 2025
Yancy, everything will be ready for next Sunday," she said, and moved toward the horses, followed by Murrell. Betty Malroy lingered for a moment at Hannibal's side. "Good-by, little boy; you must ask your Uncle Bob to bring you up to the big house to see me," and stooping she kissed him. "Good-by, Mr. Yancy, I liked your story."
John," said Yancy, and turned his back on his friend. "I reckon Bladen will have the law on his side, Bob!" "The law be damned I got what's fair on mine, I don't wish fo' better than that," exclaimed Yancy, over his shoulder. He strode from the store and started down the sandy road at a brisk run.
"This is my friend, Miss Betty Malroy." "Glad to know you, ma'am," said Yancy. Miss Malroy faced him, smiling. She, too, was very good to look upon, indeed she was quite radiant with youth and beauty. "We are just returning from Scratch Hill I think that is what you call it?" said Mrs. Ferris. "So we do," agreed Yancy. "And the dear little boy we met is your nephew, is he not, Mr. Yancy?"
Bladen heartless and his course without justification, and she regarded Yancy's affection for the boy as in itself constituting a benefit that quite outweighed his unprogressive example. "You are not going to lose your nephew, are you, Mr. Yancy?" she asked eagerly, when Yancy stood at her side. "No, ma'am."
Yancy's bearded lips, in the midst of which relations were established between the mule and cart, and the boy quitted the Barony for a new world. "Do you reckon if Uncle Bob was to let you, you could drive, sonny?" "Can she gallop?" asked the boy. Mr. Yancy gave him a hurt glance. "She's too much of a lady to do that," he said.
He much appreciated this, and added, in explanation, "You see, Colonel, my real name isn't Smith, it's Yancy.
"Suppose I come to the Cross Roads this evening?" "That's agreeable," said the deputy, who presently departed in company with Carrington. Some hours later the male population of Scratch Hill, with a gravity befitting the occasion, prepared itself to descend on the Cross Roads and give its support to Mr. Yancy in his hour of need.
"No, I 'low this ain't 'so fast as running or walking, but it's a heap quicker than standing stock-still." The afternoon sun waned as they went deeper and deeper into the pine woods, but at last they came to their journey's end, a widely scattered settlement on a hill above a branch. "This," said Mr. Yancy, "are Scratch Hill, sonny. Why Scratch Hill?
Fear and suffering had blanched his unshaven cheeks and given a wild light to his deeply sunken eyes. At sight of Yancy a smothered exclamation broke from his lips, he had supposed this man dead these many months! Hues had abandoned his post and the crowd, suddenly grown clamorous, stormed the narrow entrance. One of the doors, borne from its hinges, went down with a crash.
"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.
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