CHAPTER XII




The next day was Sunday. Mostyn did not see Dolly at breakfast. Drake
sat at the head of the table as unconcerned as if nothing unusual had
happened to him in the night. He spoke to John Webb and Mrs. Drake
about the meeting to be held that day at the church and praised the
preacher's powers and sincerity. It was the philosophical Webb who had
something to say more in harmony with Mostyn's reflections.

"I understand the revenue men made another haul last night," he said,
a watchful eye on his brother-in-law.

"You don't say?" Drake calmly extended his cup and saucer to Ann, to
be handed to George, and from him to Mrs. Drake, for a filling. "Whose
place was it?"

"Don't know whose still it was," Webb answered, "but they landed the
whole shootin'-match--sour mash, kegs, barrels, jugs, demijohns,
copper b'ilers, worms, a wagon or two, and some horses."

"Who did they ketch?" Drake asked. "I reckon it happened when I was
t'other side the mountain."

"Nobody, it seems," Webb answered. "The gang was too slick for 'em.
They must have had sentinels posted around the whole shebang."