They had known him for less than six hours, and yet
they put their lives in his hands; another sunrise would doubtless see
him pass out of their thoughts forever. He served the purpose of a
single night. They did not know his name--nor he theirs, for that
matter; they took him on faith and for what he was worth--five
dollars.
"Are those the lights of the town?" panted one of the masters, a throb
of hope in his breast. The tall man paused; the others came up beside
him. He stretched a long arm in the direction of the twinkling lights,
far ahead.
"Yas, 'r," was all that he said.
"How far?" demanded the other laboriously.
"'Bout fo'h mile."
"Road get any better?"
"Yas, 'r."
"Can we make it by nine, think?"
"Yas, 'r."
"We'd better be moving along. It's half-past seven now."
"Yas, 'r."
Once more they set forward, descending the slope into the less
hazardous road that wound its way into the town of S----, then, as
now, a thriving place in the uplands. The ending of a deadly war not
more than ten years prior to the opening of this tale had left this
part of fair Virginia gasping for breath, yet too proud to cry for
help.
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