Opposite to the smoking ruin
of the rectory he halted. He muttered, "I've got even with him anyhow!"
As he murmured his satisfaction, a man left on guard crossed the road.
"Halloa! Where are you bound, Peter?"
"Goin' after a job. Bad fire, wasn't it--hard on the preacher!"
"Hard. He's well lodged at the Squire's, and I do hear it was insured.
Nobody's much the worse, and it will make a fine bit of work for some of
us. Who done it, I wonder?"
"How should I know! Good-night."
When out of sight, he turned and said, "I ain't got even yet. Them rich
people's hard to beat. Damn the Squire! I'll get even with him some day."
He was bitterly disappointed. "Gosh! I ran that nigger out, and now I'm a
runaway too. It's queer."
At Westways Crossing he waited until an empty freight train was switched
off to let the night express go by. Then he stowed himself away in an
open box-car and had a comfortable sense of relief as it rolled eastward.
He felt sure that the Squire's last words meant that he might be arrested
and that immediate flight was his only chance of escape.
He thus passes, like Josiah, for some years out of my story. He had
money, was when sober a clever carpenter, and felt, therefore, no fear of
his future. He had the shrewd conviction that the Squire at least would
not be displeased to get rid of him, and would not be very eager to have
him pursued.
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