torrey smith jersey eagles

"That will do. Now, beyond Fayette, about seven miles north, there's a place--"

"Mis-ter Smith! you wrote that?--to-day! Wh'--who is she?"

"Yes,"--she put away gaiety--"your orders are plain; and they're as cruel as they are plain!"

"My mother! Do you know my mother?"

Silence was silver this time, speed was golden. But every step met its obstacle; there were low boughs, festoons of long-moss, bushes, briers, brake-cane, mossy logs, snaky pools, and things half fallen and held dead. If at any point on the bridle-path, near the stream, some cowpath, footpath, any trail whatever, led across to the road, my liers-in-wait were certainly guarding it and would rush to the road by that way as soon as they found I was flanking them. And so I strove on at the best speed I could make, and burst into the road with a crackle and crash that might have been heard a hundred yards away. One glance up the embowered alley, one glance down it, and I whirled to the right, drove in the spur, and flew for the bridge. A wild minute so--a turn in the road--no one in sight! Two minutes--another turn--no one yet! Three--three--another turn--no one in front, no one behind--

"Good-morning, Smith, who is your prisoner?"

"Why, the other one--the son. Lieutenant, is she that monster's wife?"

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