Our late addition had drawn up dangerously close.
It was pitch dark, and evidently he was unaware I had discovered his presence in the party, and the other fellow was exerting himself about this time to keep me entertained with stories of "hobo" life.
It was up to me to use strategem, and use it quick!
"Confound the luck!" I exclaimed, "I forgot those pistol balls back at the store, but it is all right, Bill"—Bill was the name he had called himself at the pump—"my little Iver Johnson is full loaded, and good for at least five brakemen. Ha! ha! ha! they had better let us go through to Florence, I guess."
Most darkies are afraid of a gun in a white man's hand, and these were no exceptions.
The third man was not long in speaking out, and as if he had just joined us.
"Howdy, gentlemen," was the expressive salutation, "going over to Chadbourn?"
"Yes," I retorted.
"We's gwyne down to Florida," supplemented Bill.