As he crossed the field he saw William Freeland come out of the house and go toward the barn. He came nearer, and the long graveled driveway was in full view. And so he saw the four men on horseback turn into the drive and approach the house. Then he saw two blacks whom he could not identify walking behind. One of them seemed to be tied!
Something has happened! We’ve been betrayed!
No need to run now. He came on, cutting across the front yard; he climbed over the low hedge and was stooping to pass under the rotting rose trellis as one horseman, far in the lead and riding very rapidly, reached the house. It was the tobacco planter, Mr. William Hamilton. The horseman pulled his horse to an abrupt stop and hailed Frederick.
“Hey, boy! Where’s your master?”
Even in this bitter moment of defeat some perverse imp inside Frederick forced him to reply, speaking very politely, “Mr. Freeland, sir, just went to the barn.”
Hamilton’s whip jerked in his hand, but he did not bring it down on Frederick. He wheeled about in a flurry of gravel and rode off toward the stables. By this time the other three had come up, and Frederick saw that they were constables.
He burst into the kitchen, heedless of Aunt Lou’s wrath. But the kitchen was quiet with an ominous stillness. Only John was there, his back to the room, looking out the window. He turned quickly, and Frederick saw his quivering face. They grasped each other by the hand and stood together, waiting.
The outside door opened a second time, admitting Master Freeland. His eyes were glinting steel in a grim face. His voice was harsh.
“So, here you are!” He was looking at Frederick. “Go outside! These men want to question you.”
“He ain’t done nothin’, Massa William.” There was panic in John’s appeal.