A little later in the morning Sally tied on her sunbonnet, whose pale blue lining made a charming framing for her fresh complexion and pretty face, concealing it just sufficiently to make one keenly inquisitive to take a second longer glance beneath the ruffled rim.

With the basket of eggs swung coquettishly on her plump arm, and a stray wisp or two of wavy hair escaping from its confines down her shapely, curving neck and throat, in protest at imprisonment, the girl set out walking toward the town, a mile away.

Mrs. Brown had ingeniously delayed her daughter's going by finding several little duties for her to perform, hoping the while that before the girl should be ready to start the Squire would make his appearance and leave her no alternative but to accept a ride with him.

The morning grew apace, however, and finally Sally set out alone, quite grateful for the Squire's tardiness, and partly amused, partly vexed, by her mother's thinly-veiled excuses for delay.

As the girl walked along the road with the springing, elastic step of youth and perfect health, and the freedom of the far-stretching fields as a heritage, the fresh morning air caressing her cheeks brought forth a bloom as soft and delicate as the rose of a summer dawn, while her spirits, which had become somewhat dampened under her mother's recent bickerings, gradually grew soothed and calmed under the tranquil charm of the new-born day.

Now 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.