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and I'll go quiet！ Lemme go！〃 He struggled violently in his
companion's grasp。
In all Courtland's self…control； habits of coolness； and
discipline； it is to be feared there was still something of the old
Berserker temper。 His face was white； his eyes blazed in the
darkness； only his voice kept that level distinctness which made it
for a moment more terrible than even the baying of the tracking
hounds to the negro's ear。 〃Cato；〃 he said； 〃attempt to run now；
and； by God！ I'll save the dogs the trouble of grappling your
living carcass！ Come here！ Up that tree with you！〃 pointing to a
swamp magnolia。 〃Don't move as long as I can stand here； and when
I'm downbut not till thensave yourselfthe best you can。〃
He half helped； half dragged； the now passive African to the
solitary tree； as the bay of a single hound came nearer； the negro
convulsively scrambled from Courtland's knee and shoulder to the
fork of branches a dozen feet from the ground。 Courtland drew his
revolver； and； stepping back a few yards into the open； awaited the
attack。
It came unexpectedly from behind。 A sudden yelp of panting cruelty
and frenzied anticipation at Courtland's back caused him to change
front quickly； and the dripping fangs and snaky boa…like neck of a
gray weird shadow passed him。 With an awful supernaturalness of
instinct； it kept on in an unerring line to the fateful tree。 But
that dread directness of scent was Courtland's opportunity。 His
revolver flashed out in an aim as unerring。 The brute； pierced
through neck and brain； dashed on against the tree in his impetus；
and then rolled over against it in a quivering bulk。 Again another
bay coming from the same direction told Courtland that his pursuers
had outflanked him； and the whole pack were crossing the swamp。
But he was prepared； again the same weird shadow； as spectral and
monstrous as a dream； dashed out into the brief light of the open；
but this time it was stopped； and rolled over convulsively before
it had crossed。 Flushed； with the fire of fight in his veins；
Courtland turned almost furiously from the fallen brutes at his
feet to meet the onset of the more cowardly hunters whom he knew
were at his heels。 At that moment it would have fared ill with the
foremost。 No longer the calculating steward and diplomatic
manager； no longer the cool…headed arbiter of conflicting
interests； he was ready to meet them； not only with the intrepid
instincts of a soldier； but with an aroused partisan fury equal to
their own。 To his surprise no one followed； the baying of a third
hound seemed to be silenced and checked； the silence was broken
only by the sound of distant disputing voices and the uneasy
trampling of hoofs。 This was followed by two or three rifle shots
in the distance； but not either in the direction of the quarters
nor the Dows' dwelling…house。 There evidently was some interruption
in the pursuit；a diversion of some kind had taken place；but what
he knew not。 He could think of no one who might have interfered on
his behalf； and the shouting and wrangling seemed to be carried on
in the accents of the one sectional party。 He called cautiously to
Cato。 The negro did not reply。 He crossed to the tree and shook it
impatiently。 Its boughs were empty； Cato was gone！ The miserable
negro must have taken advantage of the first diversion in his favor
to escape。 But where； and how； there was nothing left to indicate。
As Courtland had taken little note of the trail； he had no idea of
his own whereabouts。 He knew he must return to the fringe of
cypress to be able to cross the open field and gain the negro
quarters； where it was still possible that Cato had fled。 Taking a
general direction from the few stars visible above the opening； he
began to retrace his steps。 But he had no longer the negro's
woodcraft to guide him。 At times his feet were caught in trailing
vines which seemed to coil around his ankles with ominous
suggestiveness； at times the yielding soil beneath his tread showed
his perilous proximity to the swamp； as well as the fact that he
was beginning to incline towards that dread circle which is the
hopeless instinct of all lost and straying humanity。 Luckily the
edge of the swamp was more open； and he would be enabled to correct
his changed course again by the position of the stars。 But he was
becoming chilled and exhausted by these fruitless efforts； and at
length； after a more devious and prolonged detour； which brought
him back to the swamp again； he resolved to skirt its edge in
search of some other mode of issuance。 Beyond him； the light
seemed stronger； as of a more extended opening or clearing； and
there was even a superficial gleam from the end of the swamp
itself； as if from some ignis fatuus or the glancing of a pool of
unbroken water。 A few rods farther brought him to it and a full
view of the unencumbered expanse。 Beyond him； far across the
swamp； he could see a hillside bathed in the moonlight with
symmetrical lines of small white squares dotting its slopes and
stretching down into a valley of gleaming shafts； pyramids； and
tombs。 It was the cemetery； the white squares on the hillside were
the soldiers' graves。 And among them even at that distance；
uplifting solemnly； like a reproachful phantom； was the broken
shaft above the dust of Chester Brooks。
With the view of that fateful spot； which he had not seen since his
last meeting there with Sally Dows； a flood of recollection rushed
upon him。 In the white mist that hung low along the farther edge
of the swamp he fancied he could see again the battery smoke
through which the ghostly figure of the dead rider had charged his
gun three years before； in the vapory white plumes of a funereal
plant in the long avenue he was reminded of the light figure of
Miss Sally as she appeared at their last meeting。 In another
moment； in his already dazed condition； he might have succumbed to
some sensuous memory of her former fascinations； but he threw it
off savagely now； with a quick and bitter recalling of her deceit
and his own weakness。 Turning his back upon the scene with a half…
superstitious tremor； he plunged once more into the trackless
covert。 But he was conscious that his eyesight was gradually
growing dim and his strength falling。 He was obliged from time to
time to stop and rally his sluggish senses； that seemed to grow
heavier under some deadly exhalation that flowed around him。 He
even seemed to hear familiar voices；but that must be delusion。
At last he stumbled。 Throwing out an arm to protect himself； he
came heavily down upon the ooze； striking a dull； half…elastic root
that seemedit must have been another delusionto move beneath
him； and evenso confused were his senses nowto strike back
angrily upon his prostrate arm。 A sharp pain ran from his elbow to
shoulder and for a moment stung him to full consciousness again。
There were voices surely；the voices of their former pursuers！ If
they were seeking to revenge themselves upon him for Cato's escape；
he was ready for them。 He cocked his revolver and stood erect。 A
torch flashed through the wood。 But even at that moment a film
came over his eyes； he staggered and fell。
An interval of helpless semi…consciousness ensued。 He felt himself
lifted by strong arms and carried forward； his arm hanging
uselessly at his side。 The dank odor of the wood was presently
exchanged for the free air of the open field； the flaming pine…knot
torches were extinguished in the bright moonlight。 People pressed
around him； but so indistinctly he could not recognize them。 All
his consciousness seemed centred in the burning； throbbing pain of
his arm。 He felt himself laid upon the gravel； the sleeve cut from
his shoulder； the cool sensation of the hot and bursting skin bared
to the night air； and then a soft； cool； and indescribable pressure
upon a wound he had not felt before。 A voice followed；high；
lazily petulant； and familiar to him； and yet one he strove in vain
to recall。
〃De Lawdy…Gawd save us； Miss Sally！ Wot yo' doin' dah？ Chile！
Chile！ Yo' 'll kill yo'se'f； shuah！〃
The pressure continued； strange and potent even through his pain；
and was then withdrawn。 And a voice that thrilled him said：
〃It's the only thing to save him！ Hush； ye chattering black crow！
Say anything about this to a living soul； and I'll have yo'
flogged！ Now trot out the whiskey bottle and pour it down him。〃
CHAPTER VII。
When Courtland's eyes opened again； he was in bed in his own room
at Redlands； with the vivid morning sun occasionally lighting up
the wall whenever the closely drawn curtains were lightly blown
aside by the freshening breeze。 The whole events of the night
might have been a dream but for the insupportable languor which
numbed his senses； and the torpor of his arm； that； swollen and
discolored； lay outside the coverlet on a pillow before him。
Cloths that had been wrung out in iced water were replaced upon it
from time to time by Sophy； Miss Dows' housekeeper； who； seated
near his bedhead； was lazily fanning him。 Their eyes met。
〃Broken？〃 he said interrogatively； with a faint return of his old
deliberat