They suddenly halted in double ranks and Gus yelled:
“Odah, arms!”
The butts of their rifles crashed to the floor with precision, and they were allowed to break ranks for a brief rest.
They sang “John Brown’s Body,” and as its echoes died away a big negro swung his rifle in a circle over his head, shouting:
“Here’s your regulator for white trash! En dey’s nine hundred ob ’em in dis county!”
“Yas, Lawd!” howled another.
“We got ’em down now en we keep ’em dar, chile!” bawled another.
The doctor passed on slowly to the hotel. The night was dark, the streets were without lights under their present rulers, and the stars were hidden with swift-flying clouds which threatened a storm. As he passed under the boughs of an oak in front of his house, a voice above him whispered:
“A message for you, sir.”
Had the wings of a spirit suddenly brushed his cheek, he would not have been more startled.