"Better let 'im go on an' git it," said another; "we can't have too much in our neck of the woods when things look like they do now. We'll wait for you, Sam, if you'll hurry up."
"Good as wheat!" responded Sam, who went rapidly toward town.
"I tell you what, boys, we didn't make up our minds about this business a single minute too soon," remarked one of the three who were waiting for the return of their neighbour. "Somethin's got to be done, an' the sooner it's done, the sooner it'll be over with."
"You're talkin' now with both hands and tongue!" declared one of the others, in a tone of admiration.
"You'll see," remarked the one who had proposed to wait, "that Sam is jest as ripe as we are. We know what we know, an' Sam knows what he knows. I don't know as I blame the niggers much. Look at it from their side of the fence. They see these d—d white hellians goin' roun', snortin' an' preachin' ag'in the whites, an' they see us settin' down, hands folded and eyes shet, and they jest natchally think we're whipped and cowed. Can you blame 'em? I hate 'em all right enough, but I don't blame 'em."
Gabriel knew that the man who was speaking was George Rivers, a small farmer living a short distance in the country. His companions were Tom Alford and Britt Hanson, and the man who had gone to town for the ammunition was Sam Hathaway.
"Are you right certain an' shore that this man Hotchkiss is stayin' wi' Mahlon Butts?" George Rivers inquired.
"He lopes out from there every mornin'," replied Tom Alford.
"Mahlon allers was the biggest skunk in the woods," remarked Hanson. "He's runnin' for ordinary. I happened to hear him talkin' to a lot of niggers t'other day, and I went up and cussed him out. I wanted the niggers to see how chicken-hearted he is. Well, sirs, he never turned a feather. I never seed a more lamblike man in my life. I started to spit in his face, and then I happened to think about his wife. Yes, sirs, it seemed to me for about the space of a second or two that I was lookin' right spang in Becky's big eyes, an' I couldn't 'a' said a word or done a thing to save my life. I jest whirled in my tracks and went on about my business. You-all know Becky Butts—well, there's a woman that comes mighty nigh bein' a saint. Why she married sech a rapscallion as Mahlon, I'll never tell you, an' I don't believe she knows herself. But she's all that's saved Mahlon."
"That's the Lord's truth," responded Tom Alford.