"By the Fayetteville Road, Bob, not ten minutes ago--you can cut him off at Ox Road forks!" Yancy breathed a sigh of relief.

The situation was not entirely desperate, for, as Uncle Sammy said, he could reach the Ox Road forks before Blount possibly could, by going as the crow flies through the pine woods.
"Hit wouldn't have happened if there'd been a man on the Hill, but there was nothing but a passel of women about the place.

I heard the boys crying when Dave Blount lifted your nevvy into the buggy," said Uncle Sammy; "all I could do was to cuss him across two fields.

I hope you blow his hide full of holes!" for a rifle had been placed in Yancy's hands.
"Thank you-all kindly," said Yancy, and turning away he struck off through the pine woods.

A brisk walk of twenty minutes brought him to the Ox Road forks, as it was called, where he could plainly distinguish the wheel and hoof marks left by the buggy and team as it went to Scratch Hill, but there was only the single track.
This important point being settled, sense of sweet peace stole in upon Yancy's spirit.