liar, that the frightened negro actually thought
that a chunk of fire, as he described it afterward, had been applied to
his head. So vivid was the impression made on his mind that he declared
that he had actually seen the flame, as it circled around his head; and
he maintained that the back of his head would have been burned off if
"de fier had been our kind er fier."

Finding that he could not escape by running, he began to walk, and as he
was a man of great fluency of speech, he made an effort to open a
conversation with his ghostly escort. He was perspiring at every pore,
and this fact called for a frequent use of his red pocket-handkerchief.

"Blood!" cried the leader, and twelve voices repeated the word.

"Bosses--Marsters! What is I ever done to you?" To this there was no
reply. "I ain't never hurted none er you-all; I ain't never had de idee
er harmin' you. All I been doin' for dis long time, is ter try ter fetch
sinners ter de mercy-seat. Dat's all I been doin', an' dat's all I
wanter do--I tell you dat right now." Still there was no response, and
the Rev. Jeremiah made bold to take a closer look at the riders who were
within range of his vision. He nearly sunk in his tracks when he saw
that each one appeared to be carrying his head under his arm. "Name er
de Lord!" he cried; "who is you-all anyhow? an' what you gwineter do wid
me?"

Silence was the only answer he received, and the silence of the riders
was more terrifying than their talk would have been. "Ef you wanter know
who been tryin' fer ter 'casion trouble, I kin tell you, an' dat mighty
quick." But apparently the white riders were not seeking for
information. They asked no questions, and the perspiration flowed more
freely than ever from the Rev. Jeremiah's pores. Again his red
handkerchief came out of his pocket, and again the rider behind him
cried out "Blood!" and the others repeated the word.

The Rev. Jeremiah, in despair, caught at what he thought was the last
straw. "Ef you-all think dey's blood on dat hankcher, you mighty much
mistooken. 'Twuz red in de sto', long 'fo' I bought it, an' ef dey's any
blood on it, I ain't put it dar--I'll tell you dat right now."

But there was no answer to his protest, and the ghostly cortege
continued to escort him along the road. The white riders went with him
through town and to the Tomlin Place. Once there, each one filed between
him and the gate he was about to enter, and the last word of each was
"Bew