"I don't see it; what's struck you now, Thad?"
"Why, don't you remember what Mr. Stallings told us?"
"Sure I do—that these swamp rats were about as ugly a crowd to handle as he had ever heard tell of; and I guess he was right; for if I ever saw a tough lot of fellow citizens they're coming down on us right now, five, six of 'em. Ugh!" growled Maurice.
"I think you'll live to take that back, old fellow," chuckled Thad, who seemed to be far less alarmed than he had been a brief time previously, though still excited.
"What ails you?" asked the other, querulously.
"Look for yourself. Are those chaps white men or coons?"
"Why, I reckon they all seem to be white, so far as I can see—oh!
I declare, I remember now—"
"The storekeeper told us those bad men were niggers!"
"Right; that's what he said. Still, these may be another lot, connected with your friend with the sorrel-top!" declared Maurice, who died hard.
"Rats! You know now just as well as I do that yonder is the sheriff and his posse! Perhaps they think we're some of the riffraff they've been chasing, and that's why they keep aiming their blamed old guns at us that way. Hadn't we better hold up our arms, Maurice, and give 'em to understand that we surrender? Some fool might think it fine to take a snapshot at us and explain afterwards he thought we meant to fight!"