"Good lands!" cried Mrs. Goble, who, if she had ever before heard of the circumstance, had quite forgotten all about it.
"That's what Riley says," continued Bud, "an' who knows but the thing we've been a-dreadin' is comin' now? They do say that there's guns an' things hid somewheres in the woods—"
"You don't tell me!"
"It's jest what I do tell ye, kase I've heard it often. Of course the niggers knows where them guns is, an' when they an' the babolitionists like Elder Bowen get ready, they'll fetch 'em out an' go for us."
In a very short time Bud succeeded in talking himself into a most uncomfortable frame of mind. He did not feel quite safe at home, for his cabin was exposed, being fully a quarter of a mile from the nearest house, and he was afraid to go into town. His utter ignorance of the nature of the danger that threatened him made the situation hard to bear. As for fighting in case he were attacked—that was something Bud had not yet thought of. He would have preferred to run. His wife was so badly frightened that she could scarcely cook the dinner, and Bud could eat but little of it after it was cooked; but he smoked more than his share of tobacco, managed to run a few extra bullets for his rifle, and to bring in a supply of light-wood sufficient to keep a bright fire burning during the night.
As the sun sank out of sight behind the trees, and daylight faded and darkness came on, Bud's fears grew upon him. He dared not stay in the cabin for fear that some evil-minded Union man might slip up behind it, and shoot him through some of the cracks where the chinking had fallen out, so he drew one of the rickety chairs in front of the door and sat upon it, with his rifle for company. That was a little better than being cooped up within doors, but the unwonted silence that brooded over the surrounding woods distressed him.
"Durin' all the years we've lived yer I never seen the road so deserted as it is to-night," he said, in a whisper to his wife. "There's always somebody goin' one way or t'other, but now they seem to have holed up."
"Mebbe they're feared the outbreak'll ketch 'em," Mrs. Goble suggested.
"What does it look like, any way?"
"Now, listen at her!" exclaimed Bud, in accents of disgust. "'Tain't a hant that'll run after you, all dressed up in white, an' retch out its hands to grab—"
"Don't, don't!" cried his wife, shuddering perceptibly and covering her eyes with her hands to shut out the picture that Bud's words had conjured up. "Don't talk that a-way."