was still standing along the water's edge, but as he drew nearer,
those betterments which the resident of that lonely spot had seen
fit to make for his own convenience, came under his scrutiny;
these consisted of a log cabin and several lesser sheds.
Landing and securing his dug-out by the simple expedient of
dragging half its length out of the water, he advanced toward the
cabin. As he did so he saw two women at work heckling flax under
an open shed. They were the wife and daughter of George Hicks,
his overseer's brother.

"Morning, Mrs. Hicks," he said, addressing himself to the mother,
a hulking ruffian of a woman.

"Howdy, sir?" she answered. Her daughter glanced indifferently
in Ware's direction. She was a fine strapping girl, giving that
sense of physical abundance which the planter admired.

"They'd better keep her out of Murrell's way!" he thought; aloud
he said, "Anybody with the captain?"

"Colonel Fentress is."

"Humph!" muttered Ware. He moved to the door of the cabin and
pushing it open, entered the room where Murrell and Fentress were
seated facing each other across the breakfast table. The planter
nodded curtly. He had not seen Murrell since the murder, and the
sight of him quickened the spirit of antagonism which he had been
nursing. "You roust a fellow out early enough!" he grumbled,
rubbing his unshaven chin with the back of his hand.