"No, sir."
"But a man did. I had said that I was going to horse-whip him, and one day when I lay sick in bed, he came, drunk, and rode up the stairs to my room—this room—to make me eat my words. I heard a terrible racket, and the next thing I knew a horse's head was poked through the door. I thought the devil had come. But the next moment I saw my enemy, standing in his stirrups, looking down on me. He held a pistol in his hand and he snapped it at me. I rolled out of bed, just as he fired, and grabbed a gun and killed him. He fell forward, and his horse took fright and wheeled about for the door. The man—his name was Solomon Putnam—fell to one side as the horse plunged, but his foot caught in the stirrup, and he was dragged away—dragged to his own gate. The law cleared me, and I know that I was right, but sometimes I see that man, hanging to the stirrup, with the blood streaming out of his mouth. I'm not afraid—I'd do it over again. But I can't sleep when I see him."
The door creaked. "General!" It was the voice of Old Miss.
"Madam, what do you want?"
"What are you doing in there?"
"Talking to myself. Go on and I will come in a moment."
"I told you not to drink that brandy—I knew how it would be."
"Yes, you knew how it would be and I know how it is, so we are about even. Go on, and I will be there in a moment."
The door creaked again, and I heard her footsteps as she went away. Old Master got up. "Dan," he whispered, "if you ever say a word, I'll whip you. Do you hear?"
"Yes, sir."