It was the claim agent of the Y. V. railroad who stood on the gallery awaiting the appearance of Colonel Blount. The latter looked at him quietly for a moment, and held out his hand.
"Come in," said he, "you are just in time for dinner. I'm glad to see you back."
"Colonel Blount," said Eddring, in spite of himself grown again swiftly choleric, "damn your dinner! I have come back because as a white man I've got to tell you what you ought to know." There was an eagerness in his tone whose import was recognized by Blount.
"What's up?" said he, shortly. "Niggers?"
"Yes, down below there."
"Down towards the Sands' place?"
"Yes, they've been holding a meeting all the afternoon; they've got a regular church over there in the cane. They've got a leader this time, of some sort; I can't find out who it is, but it all means trouble. There has been a plot going on for a long time. They think you have been too rough with them, and, in fact, I reckon they are just generally right desperate and dangerous. They've heard a lot of this political and educational talk from up North, and it's done what might have been expected all along. The niggers are up. They are going to march on your house to-night. Why, haven't you heard their infernal drum going all the evening! This is insurrection, I tell you!"
"Come in," said Blount, simply. "I thank you."
"I don't want any thanks," said Eddring, "I am telling you this because you are a white man and so am I. It is my duty."
Blount reached out his hand again. "Not necessary," said Eddring; but the older man threw a long arm over his shoulders, so that for an instant they looked into each other's eyes; then quickly Eddring turned and caught Blount by the hand.