"Good God! Grab Jim, someone!"
"Don't be a fool ... hold Gregory ... he's got the stave!"
"He'll kill Jim!"
"Or Jim'll kill him!"...
Then came a shout from nearby.
"I'll heve the law on ye, I will! destroyin' a man's cornfield like a lot o' heathens!"
Yelling and menacing, the farmer and his big, raw-boned son were upon us. They evidently thought that we were all in such a drunken condition that they could kick us about as they choose. They had just driven home from market-day in Laurel.
Everything was mixed up in my head ... but one thing out-stood: I must do my duty by my barrel stave ... as the farmer leaped into the circle he did not notice me staggering on the outskirts. I rushed up and let him have the barrel stave full across the head.
At the same time Black Jim had turned his attention to the rangy boy, felling him at a blow. The boy leaped to his feet and ran away to a safe distance.
"Paw!" he called out, 'I'll run back to th' house an' 'phone th' p'lice."