and then a bird, startled at her approach, flew from hedge to hedge across the road, piping loudly in affected alarm as it went, while in a softer strain came the gentle lowing of cattle from a pasture near at hand, and in the tall grass and dusty weeds along the way the autumnal chorus of insects had begun, conducted by the shrill-toned cricket.
At the top of the first hill that arose between the gate and town Sally paused a moment—not that she was tired, or even spent of breath—and looked back. The picture that she saw was one of serene beauty, with wide stretches of fallow fields, bathed in the golden tranquility of a perfect October day, and dumb with the spell of restfulness and mystic brooding that this season brings.
In the far distance a long, ragged line of hills melted into the soft blue sky-line, and over these shadowy sentinels, standing a-row, the purplish haze of autumn hung like a diaphanous curtain stretching between the lowlands and the hill country.
From her elevated vantage ground the girl could see the toll-house very distinctly, though she herself was partly hidden by a small clump of young locusts under which she had paused. As she looked toward her home the Squire's old buggy came in sight around a curve of the road and stopped at the gate. Her mother came out and presently pointed in the direction of town, while the Squire gave his horse a cut of the whip and started up the road at a much brisker pace, it seemed to Sally, than before the gate was reached.
"Mother's told him that he might overtake me," she muttered, grimly smiling at the thought. "I'll see that he don't," she added, resolutely.
She stood for a few moments debating the situation, then looked toward the town. The distance was but half traveled, and the Squire must certainly overtake her before her destination was reached. There was a smaller hill beyond, and toward this she now set out briskly, fully determined to cover as much of the way as possible, so that, if finally overtaken, the ride would prove but a short one at best.
When she reached the brow of the second hill the Squire was lost to sight behind the first one, and just then a plan of escape happily suggested itself as she reached a low stone wall running for some distance along one side of the road. She lightly climbed the moss-covered stones and crouched down behind them in a clump of golden-rod, waiting in covert until the Squire should pass.
Soon she heard an approaching vehicle, which she knew to be the Squire's from the familiar joggle of loose bolts, and close upon its coming another sound fell on her alert ear, as if a horseman were riding from the direction of the town. The person on horseback and Squire Bixler met and came to a halt in the middle of the road, almost in front of that portion of the stone wall behind which the girl had taken refuge.
After the exchange of a brief greeting, the Squire said, abruptly:
"Well, what progress have you made? Any?"
"Well, Squire, I think he's goin' to jine," answered the horseman, in the peculiar drawling tones suggestive of the hill country, whose boundary lay purple and hazy along the distant horizon.
"You think he is?" cried the Squire impatiently, with a ripping oath. "What do you know about it?"
"That when I see him again he is to tell me if he's made up his mind to come to the next meetin' place. If he does, of course, he'll jine the band."
"And what does the band propose doing?" asked the Squire.
"To git free roads."
"How?"
"Not by waitin' on the courts; the people have tried that long enough. They're goin' to take things into their own hands a bit. They mean business."
"Yes, and damn 'em, they'll find that others mean business, too!" retorted the Squire, impetuously. "However, keep your eyes and ears open, and you'll soon hear the jingle of money in your pockets."
"I'll try to keep you posted, but it's risky business for me."
"You're all safe," insisted the Squire, "and you're sure of good pay. I'd like to get the young rascal in the clutches of the law," added the speaker, with sudden vindictiveness, "and if ever I do, I'll promise to make it hot for him."
"You can trap him before a great while, I think, or at least get him in so tight a place that it will be safer for him to leave this part of the country."
"Well, if I can't run him to ground, I'd at least like to run him away," admitted the Squire, frankly.
"It's your best chance for winnin' the gal," said the horseman, with a meaning laugh.
"You keep an eye on his movements, and I'll attend to winning the girl," answered the other with a touch of resentment manifest in his tone. "Did you meet anybody between here and town?"
"No. Was you expectin' to overtake some one?" questioned the horseman.
"Well, nobody in particular," answered the Squire, evasively. "I was just thinking that there wasn't much travel over the road this morning."
"Not as much as there will be when there's no toll to pay," said the other, with a meaning laugh, as he rode away.
The girl, crouching amid the tall weeds, waited until the rattling vehicle was well over the intervening hill before she ventured from her hiding place. When she gained the road once more her face wore a grave and thoughtful look.
It was evident that mischief was brewing in this quarter for somebody. Who was it the Squire was so eager to get into the clutches of the law, and what band was this person about to join? It seemed to be some secret and illegal organization. No names had been called, yet a sudden subtle intuition warned Sally that she was, in point of fact, one of the interested parties to the conversation just overheard, and that the other person who had gained the Squire's avowed enmity, and for whose speedy undoing he was even now planning, was none other than his own nephew and her sweetheart—Milton Derr.
CHAPTER III.
When the pretty toll-taker reached town she disposed of her basket of eggs at even a higher price than Foster Crain, the poultry vendor, had quoted—she was a famous hand at bargaining and a shrewd trader—then set about making some purchases.
She saw the Squire's horse and buggy standing at a hitching post near the courthouse, and determined that she would wait until the vehicle had disappeared before she started back home. Therefore she dallied over her shopping in a truly feminine way, and dropped in to have a friendly chat with an acquaintance or two; then, noting the horse and buggy had gone, she finally started homeward.
The day was now hastening toward noon, the sun had grown oppressive, and, with several bundles to carry, Sally felt that the return would not be so pleasant as the coming had been. She looked about her, hoping to find some one—that is, some one besides the Squire—who might be going in the direction of the new pike gate, and with a seat to offer, but no one seemed to be in town from her neighborhood on this morning, and so she set out alone.
Just as Sally reached the edge of the town, where two streets intersected, who should drive up the other street but the Squire? The meeting was wholly an accidental one, but after her persistent efforts to avoid him all the morning, the encounter seemed like the especial workings of a perverse fate. The Squire was close upon her before she even saw him. There was no chance
