Foresta stole out of the door on the other side of the house and reached a patch of woods without being observed by Sidney Fletcher. By a circuitous route she was able to place herself in Bud's pathway so as to intercept him before he reached home.
"Oh, Bud," said Foresta, greeting her husband, "Old Sid Fletcher is at our house waiting for you with a drawn revolver."
A frown came over Bud's face. "The jealous knave," said he. "Ever since we bought this farm he has had a dislike for me and I have been expecting trouble from him."
"Yes, Bud; but we must stay out of trouble. A colored man hasn't a dog's show in this part of the world."
Bud sat down on a stump and Foresta dropped at his feet.
"Let's stay away from home to-night. We have had trouble enough, Bud," said Foresta pleadingly.
Bud looked down on her tenderly, and said, "It is a shame for a peaceful, industrious man to have a home and not be able to go to it."
Just then Sidney Fletcher was seen coming in their direction.
"Get behind a tree; nobody knows what will take place," said Bud to Foresta. She obeyed and Bud now calmly awaited the approach of Sidney Fletcher.
When Fletcher got in shooting distance he deliberately opened fire on Bud. After the third shot Bud raised his gun to his shoulder and fired and Fletcher fell backward a corpse. Bud and Foresta now looked at each other aghast. They knew the penalty attached to the raising of a black hand against a white man, even when that man unjustly sought the life of the black.