“What's that?” Hoag asked, with a dumb stare into the other's waxlike countenance.
“Why, if they take a notion they kin poison all the drinkin'-water anywhars about. Niggers don't look far ahead. They wouldn't even think o' the widespread results to them as well as us.”
A desperate look of conviction crept across Hoag's eyes. At this juncture he heard the front door of his house open, and, turning, he saw Jack come out on the veranda and eagerly start down the steps toward him.
“Stay thar!” Hoag waved his hand dejectedly. “I'm comin' up right away.”
Jack paused on the steps, a beautiful figure with supple, slender limbs, high, white brow under waving curls. Even at that distance, and through the lowering mists which lay on the grass like downy feathers dropped from the wings of dawn, the two men marked the boy's expression of startled surprise over being so peremptorily stopped. He sat down on the steps, his beautiful eyes fixed inquiringly on his father.
“I'd send that boy off, anyway,” Purvynes said, as if thinking for himself.
“You say you would!” slowly and from a mouth that twitched. “What do you mean by—that?”
“I mean all the niggers know how you dote on 'im, Jim. I've heard folks say that they didn't believe you ever loved any other human alive or dead. The niggers that got up that warnin' wouldn't hesitate to strike at you even through a purty innocent chap like that.”
Hoag dropped his stare to the ground. He clutched a paling with a pulseless hand and leaned forward. “I reckon maybe you are right,” he muttered. “I've heard of 'em doin' the like, even kidnappin' an' makin' threats of bodily torture.”
Hoag glanced at his son again, and, catching his eyes, he waved his hand and forced a smile. “I'm comin'!” he called out. “See if our breakfast is ready. We'll have it together.”