“Then he fired. He was so weak that the gun kicked him over. When I looked at the otter it seemed that the creature had never moved, but presently I saw a leg quivering, and then we rushed forward as fast as we could, the happiest lot of men you ever saw on this earth. The otter was shot through the head. The men were so ravenous they acted like maniacs. It was all that Blandford and Pruitt and I could do to keep them from falling on the otter with their knives and eating it raw, hide and all.
“But it saved us,” Mr. Deometari went on, “and we had something to spare. The next day we met with a farmer hunting his stray sheep, and we soon got back to the army. Four of us formed the Relief Committee before we parted. Blandford, Pruitt, Tom Henderson, and myself—the men who had never lost hope—promised each other, and shook hands on it, that whenever one got in trouble the others would help him out without any questions.
“Now, it isn’t necessary to ask any questions about Pruitt He deserted because his family were in a starving condition.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Blandford, bringing his heavy jaws together with a snap, “and I believe in my soul that Johnson has kept food and clothes away from them!”
“I know he has,” said Mr. Deometari, calmly. “Tom Henderson is one of Johnson’s clerks, and he keeps the run of things. He is to meet us to-night, and then you’ll see a man who has been blazing mad for three months.—Now, my boy,” continued Mr. Deometari, “forget all about this. You are too young to be troubled with such things. We’re just watching to see how Captain Johnson proposes to pay off the score he owes Pruitt. Should you chance to see John, just tell him that the Relief Committee has taken charge of Hillsborough for a few weeks. Another thing,” said Mr. Deometari, laying his hand kindly on the boy’s shoulder, “if you should be sent for some day or some night, just drop everything and come with the messenger. A bright chap like you is never too small to do good.”
The two men shook hands with Joe, and Mr. Blandford gravely took off his hat when he bade the boy good-by.
CHAPTER XII—A GEORGIA FOX-HUNT
For a few days Joe Maxwell forgot all about Mr. Deometari, Mr. Blandford, and Mr. Pruitt. There was distinguished company visiting the editor of The Countryman—a young lady from Virginia, Miss Nellie Carter, and her mother, and some young officers at home on furlough. One of these young officers, a kinsman of the editor, brought his pack of fox-hounds, and arrangements were made for a grand fox-hunt. The plantation seemed to arouse itself to please the visitors. The negroes around the house put on their Sunday clothes and went hurrying about their duties, as if to show themselves at their best.