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confidence whatever in the law. That's the puzzle, why is that?"

Abner turned around and looked at the corpse, spurred to a certain dim intellectual effort by its concrete question.

"Why didn't the law work in the South?" He pondered it seriously and finally said, "It jest never did, Mr. Ditmas."

At that moment, at a considerable distance among the trees, Abner received an impression that something had moved. His woodman's sense had marked the stealthy gliding of a man. He broke off suddenly to ask, "Who was that?"

"Where?"

"Out yonder behind that log."

"I don't see anything behind that log."

"Course not now, after I pointed."

"Is there someone?"

"Shore, le's go see."

Ditmas was really incurious about another spectator of the gruesome scene, but he followed Abner, who moved slowly and noiselessly toward the log. Instinctively the engineer followed his example. The teamster dropped his hand to the automatic in his pocket—not that he meant to use it; he habitually placed himself in a defensive posture when he walked up on anything like this.

When they were within fifteen steps of the log both men were startled by a fear-struck voice,

"Oh—oh, Mastuh Abnah, fuh God's sake don' kill me, Mastuh. Ah ain't done nothin'!"

And around the end of the log peeked an eye and the quarter of the head of a Negro boy. A second later this turned out to be the black chore boy of the Scovell House.

The chore boy had the misplaced appearance of a tame house cat in the woods.

"John!" snapped Abner, irritated by the strain on his nerves. "What the hell are you doin' here!"

John was the colour of ashes. He could hardly control his thick lips to speak.