The mother stopped short, fascinated by the horror of the tragedy she knew would take place outside her door. The darkness gave no token of its progress. A cricket was chirping in the chimney just awakened by the noise.
She held her breath and listened. Not a sound. The silence was unbearable. She sprang to her feet in a moment's fierce rebellion against the crime of such an infamous attack. A roused lioness, she leaped to the mantel to seize the shotgun.
John followed and caught her.
"The gun's gone, Ma," he cried.
"Yes, yes, I forgot," she gasped. "They took it, the damned fiends!"
"Ma, Ma, be still!" the boy pleaded. He was horror-stricken at the oath from her lips. In all his life he had never heard her use a vulgar word.
"Yes, of course," she faltered. "I mustn't try to do anything. They might come back and kill you—my baby boy!"
She pressed him again to her heart and held him. She strained her ears for the first signal of the deed the darkness shrouded.
The huntsmen dragged the father and two sons but a hundred and fifty yards from the door and halted beside the road. Brown faced the father in the dim starlight.
"You are a Southern white man?"