The old man dropped the lines, and for an instant gazed at him with scared eyes.
"Why, yo' robber, what d'yo' mean?" he gasped.
"Git down from there, and git down quick!" repeated the Deacon.
"Why, this is highway robbery, threats, puttin' in bodily fear, attempted murder, hoss-stealin'."
"Hain't no time to argy law with you," said the Deacon impatiently. "This ain't no court-room. You ain't in session now. Git down, and git down quick!"
"Help! help! murder! robbery! thieves!" shouted the old man, at the top of his voice.
The negresses, who had been watching their master depart, set to screaming, and the old woman rushed back into the house and blew the horn. The Deacon thrust his revolver back into the holster, caught the old man with his sinewy hand, tore him from the seat, and flung him into the fence-corner. He sprang into the seat, turned the horse's head toward Chattanooga, and hit him a sharp cut with a switch that lay in the wagon.
"I've got about three miles the start," he said as he rattled off. "This horse's young and fresh, while their's probably run down. The road from here to the main road's tollably good, and I think I kin git there before they kin overtake me."
At the top of the hill he looked back, and saw the rebels coming out. Apparently they had not understood what had happened. They had seen no Yankees and could not have seen the Deacon's tussle with the old man. They supposed that the holler simply meant for them to come in and get their dinner, instead of having it taken out to them. All this passed through the Deacon's mind, and he chuckled over the additional start it would give him.
"They won't find out nothin' till they git clean to the house," he said. "By that time I'll be mighty nigh the main road. My, but wouldn't I like to have as many dollars as they'll be mad when they find the Yankee trick that's bin played on 'em, with their dinner hauled off into the Union camp."