Dunwody, left to himself, began moodily to walk up and down the narrow deck, his hands behind his back.  On his face was the red fighting flush, but it was backed by no expression of definite purpose, and his walk showed his mental uncertainty.  All at once he turned and with decision passed down the stairs to the lower deck.  He had heard voices which he recognized.

Judge Clayton had joined the party in charge of the fugitives, and was now in conversation with the overseer, a short man clad in a coarse blue jacket, with high boots and greasy leather trousers.  The latter was expatiating exultantly upon his own bravery and shrewdness in effecting the recapture of his prisoners.

“Why, Jedge,” said he, “fust off it di’n’t look like we’d ever git track of ’em at all.  I cotched the trail at Portsmouth at last, and follered ’em back into Ohio.  They was shore on the ‘underground’ and bound for Canada, or leastways Chicago.  I found ’em in a house ’way out in the country—­midnight it was when we got thar.  I’d summonsed the sher’f and two constables to go ’long.  Farm-house was a underground railway station all right, and the farmer showed fight.  We was too much fer him, and we taken ’em out at last, but one of the constables got shot—­some one fired right through the winder at us.  This Lily gal was the wust of the lot, and I don’t put it a-past her to ‘a’ done some of the shootin’ herself.  But we brung ’em all along.

“Now, Jedge,” he continued, “of co’se, I think I can do something for these two bucks Bill and Jim—­this gal only persuaded ’em to run away with her.  But if I was you, I shore would sell that Lily gal South, right away.  She’s bound fer to make trouble, and nothin’ but trouble, fer you as long as you keep her round the place.”

The speaker, coarse and ignorant, presented a contrast to the tall, dignified and quiet gentleman whom he accosted, and who now stood, with hands in pockets, looking on with genuine concern on his face.

“Lily,” said he at length, “what makes you act this way?  Haven’t you always been treated well down there at home?”

“Yas, sir, I reckon so,” replied the girl sullenly; “well as anybody’s niggahs is!”

“Then why do you want to run off?  This is the third time in the last year.  I’ve been kind to you—­I say, Dunwody,” he went on, turning suddenly as he saw the latter approach—­“haven’t I always treated my people right?  Haven’t I always given them everything in the world they ought to have?”

“Yes, Judge, that’s the truth, and any neighbor of yours will say it,” assented Dunwody as he joined the group.  “What’s wrong then?  This Lily girl run off again?  Seems to me you told me about her.”

“Yes,” said Judge Clayton, rubbing a finger across his chin in perturbation, “the poor thing doesn’t know when she’s well off.  But what am I to do with her, that’s the question?  I don’t believe in whipping; but in this case, Wilson, I’m going to turn over those two boys to you.  I won’t have the girl whipped even yet.  I’ll see you when we get down to Cairo,” he added, turning away.  “We’ll have to change there to the Sally Lee, for the Vernon doesn’t stop at our landing.  She’s going straight through to Memphis.”