“What shall we do, Tom? If we shoot we may kill Annie.”
“Shoot, men! My God, shoot! There are things worse than death!”
They needed no urging. Like young tigers they sprang across the orchard toward the woods whence came the sound of the laughter of the negroes.
“Stop de screechin’!” cried the leader.
“She nebber get dat gag out now.”
“Too smart fur de po’ white trash dis time sho’!” laughed one.
Three pistol shots rang out like a single report! Three more! and three more! There was a wild scramble. Taken completely by surprise, the negroes fled in confusion. Four lay on the ground. Two were dead, one mortally wounded and three more had crawled away with bullets in their bodies. There in the midst of the heap lay the unconscious girl gagged.
“Is she hurt?” cried a mountain boy.
“Can’t tell, take her to the house quick.”
They laid her across the bed in the room that had been made sweet and tidy for the bride and groom. The mother bent over her quickly with a light. Just where the blue veins crossed in her delicate temple there was a round hole from which a scarlet stream was running down her white throat.