"I reckon it can shoot--these old guns are hard to beat!" he observed.
"She's the clostest shooting rifle I ever sighted," said Hannibal promptly.

"You had ought to see the judge shoot her--my! he never misses!" Carrington laughed.
"The clostest shooting rifle you ever sighted--eh ?" he repeated.

"Why, aren't you afraid of it ?" "No," said Hannibal scornfully.

"But she kicks you some if you don't hold her right." There was a rusty name-plate on the stock of the old sporting rifle; this had caught Carrington's eye.
"What's the name here?
Oh, Turberville." The judge, a step or two in advance, wheeled in his tracks with a startling suddenness.
"What ?" he faltered, and his face was ashen.
"Nothing, I was reading the name here; it is yours; sir, I suppose ?" said Carrington.
The color crept slowly back into the judge's cheeks, but a tremulous hand stole up to his throat.
"No, sir--no; my name is Price--Slocum Price! Turberville--Turberville--" he muttered thickly, staring stupidly at Carrington.
"It's not a common name; you seem to have heard it before ?" said the latter.
A spasm of pain passed over the judge's face.
"I--I've heard it.

The name is on the rifle, you say ?" "Here on the stock, yes." The judge took the gun and examined it in silence.
"Where did you get this rifle, Hannibal ?" he at length asked brokenly.
"I fetched it away from the Barony, sir; Mr.Crenshaw said I might have it." The judge gave a great start, and a hoarse inarticulate murmur stole from between his twitching lips.
"The Barony--the Barony--what Barony?
The Quintard seat in North Carolina, is that what you mean ?" "Yes," said the boy.
The judge, as though stunned, stared at Hannibal and stared at the rifle, where the rusted name-plate danced before his eyes.
"What do you know of the Barony, Hannibal ?" the words came slowly from the judge's lips, and his face had gone gray again.
"I lived at the Barony once, until Uncle Bob took me to Scratch Hill to be with him.