But Courtland had winning ways with all dependents. "But you will answer
me ONE question, Sophy, and I'll not ask another. Has"--he hesitated
in his still uncertainty as to the actuality of his experience and its
probable extent--"has--Cato--escaped?"

"If yo' mean dat sassy, bull-nigger oberseer of yo'se, cunnle, HE'S
safe, yo' bet!" returned Sophy sharply. "Safe in his own quo'tahs night
afo' las', after braggin' about the bloodhaowns he killed; and safe ober
the county line yes'day moan'in, after kicking up all dis rumpus. If
dar is a sassy, highfalutin' nigger I jiss 'spises--its dat black nigger
Cato o' yo'se! Now,"--relenting--"yo' jiss wink yo' eye, honey,
and don't excite yo'se'f about sach black trash; drap off to sleep
comfor'ble. Fo' you do'an get annuder word out o' Sophy, shuah!"

As if in obedience, Courtland closed his eyes. But even in his weak
state he was conscious of the blood coming into his cheek at Sophy's
relentless criticism of the man for whom he had just periled his life
and position. Much of it he felt was true; but how far had he been a
dupe in his quixotic defense of a quarrelsome blusterer and cowardly
bully? Yet there was the unmistakable shot and cold-blooded attempt at
Cato's assassination! And there were the bloodhounds sent to track the
unfortunate man! That was no dream--but a brutal inexcusable fact!

The medical practitioner of Redlands he remembered was conservative,
old-fashioned, and diplomatic. But his sympathies had been broadened by
some army experiences, and Courtland trusted to some soldierly and frank
exposition of the matter from him. Nevertheless, Dr. Maynard was first
healer, and, like Sophy, professionally cautious. The colonel had better
not talk about it now. It was already two days old; the colonel had been