“Who was leading the crowd?”
“Dat Allan McLeod, en Hose Norman.”
“Where are they going to meet?”
“Right at de cross-roads here at de school house at mid-night. Dey sont er man atter plenty er licker en dey gwine ter git drunk fust. I was erfeered ter come ter de meetin’ case I see er lot er de boys in de crowd. Fur de Lawd sake, Preacher, do save de ole man. He des es harmless ez er chile. En I’m gwine ter marry his gal, en she des plum crazy. We’se got five men ter fight fur ’im but I spec dey kill ’em all ef you can’t he’p us.”
“Are you one of General Worth’s negroes?”
“Yassir. I run erway up here, ’bout dat Free’mens Bureau trick dey put me up ter, but I’se larned better sense now.”
“Well, Sam, you go to Uncle Rufus and tell him not to be afraid. I’ll stop this business before night.”
The negro stepped into the woods and disappeared.
“Charlie, we must hurry,” said the Preacher springing in his buggy. He was driving a beautiful bay mare, a gift from a Kentucky friend. Her sleek glistening skin and big round veins showed her fine blood.
“Well, Nancy, it’s your life now or a man’s, or maybe a dozen. You must take us to Hambright in fifty minutes over these rough hills!” cried the Preacher. And he gave her the reins.