Inclosed by it was the old apple orchard of the home place;
the house was yet concealed by the brow of the steep hill. Inside and
along the fence, pokeberries, elders, sassafras, and sumac grew high
and dense. At a rustle of their branches, both Goree and Coltrane
glanced up, and saw a long, yellow, wolfish face above the fence,
staring at them with pale, unwinking eyes. The head quickly
disappeared; there was a violent swaying of the bushes, and an
ungainly figure ran up through the apple orchard in the direction of
the house, zig-zagging among the trees.
"That's Garvey," said Coltrane; "the man you sold out to. There's no
doubt but he's considerably cracked. I had to send him up for
moonshining once, several years ago, in spite of the fact that I
believed him irresponsible. Why, what's the matter, Yancey?"
Goree was wiping his forehead, and his face had lost its colour. "Do
I look queer, too?" he asked, trying to smile. "I'm just remembering
a few more things." Some of the alcohol had evaporated from his brain.
"I recollect now where I got that two hundred dollars."
"Don't think of it," said Coltrane cheerfully. "Later on we'll figure
it all out together."
They rode out of the branch, and when they reached the foot of the
hill Goree stopped again.
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