"I reckon I was throwed in. It was a man named Murrell and
another man named Slosson. They tried fo' to murder me--they
wanted to get my nevvy--I 'low they done it!" and Yancy groaned
again.

"You'll get him back," said Polly soothingly.

"Could you-all put me asho'?" inquired Yancy, with sudden
eagerness.

"We could, but we won't," said Cavendish, in no uncertain tone.

"Why, la!--you'd perish!" exclaimed Polly.

"Are we far from where you-all picked me up?"

Cavendish nodded. He did not like to tell Yancy the distance
they had traversed.

"Where are you-all taking me?" asked Yancy.

"Well, stranger, that's a question I can't answer offhand. The
Tennessee are a twister; mebby it will be Kentucky; mebby it will
be Illinoy, and mebby it will be down yonder on the Mississippi.
My tribe like this way of moving about, and it certainly favors a
body's legs."

"How old was your nevvy?" inquired Polly, reading the troubled
look in Yancy's gray eyes.