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“Traitor!” repeated Bob and then pulled his horse’s head around and struck hard with his quirt. In a flash his little horse was flying in the direction of home. It was a desperate chance he was taking, for he had read in the faces of the two men as he turned that they were determined that he should not get back to the dam with his suspicions confirmed. He knew that in running he braved possible death, for he had noticed that both men were armed. The sound of his horse’s hoofs and the rushing wind drowned the noise that would have told him whether he was being pursued or not. He was bending low in the saddle and it was hard to turn and see what had become of Jerry and his companions. But he managed it., Mr. Hazard was as good as his word. The same night found him installed in the colonial house from which the great plantation of Crossways had formerly been managed. Now the plantation was a thing of memory only. Only the house and comparatively few cultivated acres remained of the once proud estate. Edward Moseley, the last of a long line, kept a school, which, primarily started for the benefit of his tenants’ children, had become so famous that boys from all parts of the country were now enrolled., “You go down into it, then?” asked Bob..