Payne turned swiftly. The engineer's keen eyes had picked out three small specks bobbing up and down out on the prairie and even at the distance he knew them for easily riding horsemen.
"It didn't take him long to tell his friends," said Payne. "Hig, you go down to the other side of the boys. My guess is that they'll try to terrorize our labor. If they drive this bunch off the news will spread. Negroes won't come to work down here where they hear any white men are out against them. If they're like the first pup they'll try to ride the boys down."
"Yep; that's a favorite method."
"Kill the horse under the first man who tries it, if he's down your way. If he's up here I'll do it. Then stop. Stop absolutely. No words. I talked too much to that other hound. Just wait for their next move."
"Well—I've heard they carry guns down here, Payne, and use them well, too, sometimes," said Higgins questioningly.
"Well," replied Payne dryly, "I don't think I'll try to tell you what to do in that case."
The three riders were still far away and their approach was a slow, leisurely canter. They made no apparent effort to hurry their mounts, nor did they maintain a straight course. At times they were lost from view hidden behind the islets of palmetto scrub, or in one of the rare clumps of pine or cypress with which the prairie was dotted.
"Looks like they're getting a little chilled below the ankles," called Higgins. "Do they think we're such damn fools they can fool us by coming slow?"
The riders disappeared behind one of the small thick clumps of old cypress trees draped with great curtains of Spanish moss, which mark the presence of a water hole on the Florida prairie. When they emerged their course was altered toward the northward.
"Looks like they're turning back."