“Allow no white man to order you around. Remember you are a freeman and as good as any pale-face who walks this earth.”
She recognized the voice of Silas Lynch.
“Ben Cameron dare me to come about de house,” said the other voice.
“What did he say?”
“He say, wid his eyes batten’ des like lightnen’, ‘Ef I ketch you hangin’ ’roun’ dis place agin’, Gus, I’ll jump on you en stomp de life outen ye.’”
“Well, you tell him that your name is Augustus, not ‘Gus,’ and that the United States troops quartered in this town will be with him soon after the stomping begins. You wear its uniform. Give the white trash in this town to understand that they are not even citizens of the nation. As a sovereign voter, you, once their slave, are not only their equal—you are their master.”
“Dat I will!” was the firm answer.
The negro to whom Lynch spoke disappeared in the direction taken by Marion and her mother, and the figure of the handsome mulatto passed rapidly up the walk, ascended the steps and knocked at the door.
Elsie followed him.
“My father is too much fatigued with his journey to be seen now; you must call to-morrow,” she said.