But the marshal had no answer.
As they made their way drearily back toward the Woodruff Gate, the officer broke a long silence: "Only a blood-hound can trail them!"
The gloom of Uncle Dick's expression did not lighten.
"They hain't nary one in the mountings," he answered, heavily.
"None nearer than Suffolk, Virginia," the marshal said. "Cyclone Brant has a couple of good ones. But it would cost a lot."
The old man flared.
"Fer God's sake, git thet-thar feller an' his dawgs. I hain't axin' what hit 'll cost. Hit was my money got thet-thar damned cuss out o' the jail-house. I hain't likely to begrudge anythin' hit 'll cost to git him kotched. An' Plutiny!--why, money don't matter none, if I can save Plutiny!"
"I'll send for Brant to-night," the marshal promised, with new cheerfulness. "Let's hope he's not off somewhere. They send for him all over the country. If the dogs start day after to-morrow, they'll still find the scent."
Uncle Dick groaned.
"An' her a-lyin' out with thet-thar wolf all thet while," he mumbled, in despair. "Mebby, this very minute, she's a-screamin'--callin' to her ole gran'pap to save her. My Plutiny!" He walked with lagging steps; the tall form, usually so erect, was bowed under the burden of tormenting fears. The marshal, understanding, ventured no word of comfort.
It was late afternoon when the dispirited searchers reached the Siddon clearing on their return from the fruitless day's work. There, they were astonished to see the Widow Higgins come down the path toward them, at a pace ordinarily forbidden by her rheumatic joints. She waved a paper in her hand.
"Hit's a telegraph," she called shrilly. Her voice held something of the awe with which remoter regions still regard that method of communication. But there was a stronger emotion still that thus sent the old woman dancing in forgetfulness of her chronic pains. It was explained in her next sentence, cried out with a mother's exultation in the homecoming of her beloved. Almost, in joy over seeing her son again, she forgot the misery that was bringing him.
"Hit's from Zekie! Zekie's comin' home!"
Uncle Dick could not share the mother's delight. The lover's coming could hardly avail anything toward saving the girl. Nevertheless, he took the sheet of paper, which carried the message sent on by telephone from North Wilkesboro' to Joines' store. He read it aloud, that the marshal might hear: Suffolk, Va.
Richard Siddon, Joines' Mill, N. C., Via Telephone from North Wilkesboro'. Arrive to-night with bloodhound.