“We have generally proved winners even with the odds against us.”
Warren leaned back against the wall of the rude cabin wearied from the long nervous strain, but listening intently to all that passed.
“Judah’s a lion, and Winona has the pluck of a man,” Maybee went on. “She doesn’t whimper, but jes’ saws wood an’ keeps to her in-structions.”
Warren spoke now.
“You have as many manœuvres to gain admittance to your house as some of the Indian fighters I used to read about when a boy. What are you expecting to-night, Mr. Steward?”
“Some of the gang,” replied the parson, stopping in his occupation of cutting strips of bacon for the frying pan. “They have threatened me with vengeance because I sheltered John Brown and his men on their way north a month or two back. Reynolds brought me word this morning that they had concluded to visit me to-night. Reynolds hasn’t the nerve to come out as I do, and avow his principles, but maybe it’s better so that the gang don’t know it; through him I keep informed of all their movements.”
“Don’t know thar leetle program, do you?” carelessly questioned Maybee, as he threw back the lid of the coffee-pot to keep its contents from boiling over.
“No; Reynolds didn’t learn that,” replied Steward, as he adjusted the meat in the pan and placed it over the fire, “He thinks their intention is to decorate my anatomy with tar and feathers.”
“Mos’ cert’n’ly,” nodded Maybee, as he took his turn at tending the frying meat while Steward sliced potatoes to brown in the bacon fat after the meat was cooked.
“Mr. Steward, if we had been of their number when we came to the door just now, what would you have done?” asked Warren.