“Bring him out or I’ll break down the door!” said the old man.
“If you do it’s at your own risk. I know you, Whitaker, an’ you know me. I’ll give ye two minutes to get off that porch!”
“I want that nigger, I tell ye!”
“If ye don’t git off that porch I’ll fire through the door,” said the voice solemnly. “One—Two——”
The old man backed cautiously away.
“Come out, Mathews!” yelled the crowd. “You’ve got to give him up this time. We ain’t goin’ back without him.”
Slowly the door opened, as if the individual within were very well satisfied as to his power to handle the mob. He had done it once before this night, why not again? It revealed his tall form, armed with his shotgun. He looked around very stolidly, and then addressed the old man as one would a friend.
“Ye can’t have him, Morgan,” he said. “It’s ag’in’ the law. You know that as well as I do.”
“Law or no law,” said the old man, “I want that nigger!”
“I tell you I can’t let you have him, Morgan. It’s ag’in’ the law. You know you oughtn’t to be comin’ around here at this time o’ night actin’ so.”