"Bosses—Marsters! What is I ever done to you?" To this there was no reply. "I ain't never hurted none er you-all; I ain't never had de idee er harmin' you. All I been doin' for dis long time, is ter try ter fetch sinners ter de mercy-seat. Dat's all I been doin', an' dat's all I wanter do—I tell you dat right now." Still there was no response, and the Rev. Jeremiah made bold to take a closer look at the riders who were within range of his vision. He nearly sunk in his tracks when he saw that each one appeared to be carrying his head under his arm. "Name er de Lord!" he cried; "who is you-all anyhow? an' what you gwineter do wid me?"
Silence was the only answer he received, and the silence of the riders was more terrifying than their talk would have been. "Ef you wanter know who been tryin' fer ter 'casion trouble, I kin tell you, an' dat mighty quick." But apparently the white riders were not seeking for information. They asked no questions, and the perspiration flowed more freely than ever from the Rev. Jeremiah's pores. Again his red handkerchief came out of his pocket, and again the rider behind him cried out "Blood!" and the others repeated the word.
The Rev. Jeremiah, in despair, caught at what he thought was the last straw. "Ef you-all think dey's blood on dat hankcher, you mighty much mistooken. 'Twuz red in de sto', long 'fo' I bought it, an' ef dey's any blood on it, I ain't put it dar—I'll tell you dat right now."
But there was no answer to his protest, and the ghostly cortège continued to escort him along the road. The white riders went with him through town and to the Tomlin Place. Once there, each one filed between him and the gate he was about to enter, and the last word of each was "Beware!"
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Major Tomlin Perdue Arrives
Gabriel was struck by the fact that Hotchkiss seemed to be undisturbed by the events that had startled and stampeded the negroes and the white stranger. He remained in the church for some time after the others were gone, and he showed no uneasiness whatever. He had seated himself on one of the deacons' chairs near the pulpit, and, with his head leaning on his hand, appeared to be lost in thought. After awhile—it seemed to be a very long time to Gabriel—he rose, put on his hat, blew out one by one the lamps that rested in sconces along the wall, and went out into the darkness.
Gabriel had remained in the tree, and with good reason. He knew that whoever fired the pistol, the reports of which added so largely to the panic among the negroes, was very close to the tree where he had hid himself, and so he waited, not patiently, perhaps, but with a very good grace. When Hotchkiss was out of sight, and presumably out of hearing, Gabriel heard some one calling his name. He made no answer at first, but the call was repeated in a tone sufficiently loud to leave no room for mistake.
"Tolliver, where are you? If you're asleep, wake up and show me a near-cut to town."