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"I'll take my chances. What have I been taking all my life but the biggest sort of chances? and for little enough!" Ware, feeling the entire uselessness of argument, uttered a string of imprecations, and then fell silent. His acquaintance with Murrell was of long standing. It dated back to the time when he was growing into the management of Belle Plain.
Murrell was another man who, in a decent walk of life, would have been called great. He had more than ordinary energy and intellect. He was not a mere brute, but a shrewd, cunning, scheming man, hesitating at no crime on earth, yet animated by a mind so bold that mere personal crime was not enough for him.
The fugitives had not gone into hiding, however; they had traversed the state from east to west, and Murrell was soon on their trail and pressing forward in pursuit.
There was a brief pause when the landing was reached, but it was only momentary; a hand lifted the bar, the door was thrown open, and its space framed the figure of a man. It was John Murrell. Standing there he regarded Betty in silence, but a deep-seated fire glowed in his sunken eyes. The sense of possession was raging through him, his temples throbbed, a fever stirred his blood.
Duane, you're aware of the hard name you bear all over the Southwest?" "Once in a while I'm jarred into realizing," replied Duane. "It's the hardest, barring Murrell and Cheseldine, on the Texas border. But there's this difference. Murrell in his day was known to deserve his infamous name. Cheseldine in his day also.
At last he said, speaking with visible effort, "I stayed in Memphis until five o'clock this morning." "Damn your early hours!" roared Murrell. "What are you doing here? I suppose you've been showing that dead face of yours about the neighborhood why didn't you stay at Belle Plain since you couldn't keep away?" "I haven't been near Belle Plain, I came here instead.
He had halted near where Jim had turned his team the previous night after Betty and Hannibal had left the carriage; the marks of the wheels were as plainly distinguishable as the more recent trail left by the four men, and as he grasped the significance of that wide half circle his sense of injury overwhelmed him again. He hoped to live to see Murrell hanged!
"You'll be running all our heads into a halter, the first thing you know and this isn't any place to talk over such matters, there are too many people about." "There's only Bess and the old woman busy outside," said Murrell. "What's to hinder them from sticking an ear to a chink in the logs?" "Go on, and finish what you've got to say, and get it off your mind," said Murrell.
Carrington took up his station on the flat roof of the cabin which filled the stern of the boat. He was remembering that day in the sandy Barony road and during all the weeks and months that had intervened, Murrell, working in secret, had moved steadily toward the fulfilment of his desires!
"I don't propose to debate this further," rejoined Murrell haughtily. Instantly the colonel's jaw became rigid. The masterful airs of this cutthroat out of the hills irked him beyond measure. Murrell turned to Ware. "How soon can you get away from here, Tom?" he asked abruptly. "By God, I can't go too soon!" cried the planter, staggering to his feet. He gave Fentress a hopeless beaten look.
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