Perhaps it is not surprising that my recollections | of what now ensued should lack definiteness and sequence. The truth is, that my terror at my own predicament, sitting there with no covering for my feet and calves but the burdock leaves and that absurd shawl, swamped everything else in my mind. Still, I do remember some of it.
Abner strode across to the bookcase and took up the gun, his big thumb resting determinedly on the hammers. Then he marched to the door, threw it wide open, and planted himself on the threshold, looking out into the darkness.
“What’s your business here, whoever you are?” he called out, in deep defiant tones.
“We’ve come to take you an’ Paddy out for a little ride on a rail!” answered the same shrill, mocking voice we had heard at first. Then others took up the hostile chorus. “We’ve got some pitch a-heatin’ round in the backyard!”
“You won’t catch cold; there’s plenty o’ feathers!”
“Tell the Irishman here’s some more ears for him to chaw on!”
“Come out an’ take your Copperhead medicine!”
There were yet other cries which the howling wind tore up into inarticulate fragments, and then a scattering volley of cheers, again emphasized by pistol-shots. While the crack of these still chilled my blood, a more than usually violent gust swooped round Abner’s burly figure, and blew out the lamp.
Terrifying as the first instant of utter darkness was, the second was recognizable as a relief. I at once threw myself out of the chair, and crept along back of the stove to where my stockings and boots had been put to dry. These I hastened, with much trembling awkwardness, to pull on, taking pains to keep the big square old stove between me and that open veranda door.
“Guess we won’t take no ride to-night!” I heard Abner roar out, after the shouting had for the moment died away.