r if Tomlin Perdue wouldn't let me into the row?" inquired
Captain Sanford. "You see, it's this way: If the boy can't break away,
it would be well for a serious accident to happen, and in that case,
you'll need a man that's perfectly willing to bear the brunt of such an
accident."

"We'll see about that," said Mr. Sanders.

"Suppose it's a rainy day, Buck; what then?" asked the Chief.

"And you a grown man!" exclaimed Mr. Sanford, sarcastically. "Did you
ever hear of a false alarm? Or were you at a Sunday-school picnic when
it was rung in? Oh, I'm going to get a blacksmith and have your head
worked on," and with that, Captain Buck Sanford turned on his heel and
went out.

"I know Buck was pleased with your plan," the Chief declared. "He nodded
at me a time or two when you wasn't looking. If you can work him into
the row, it will tickle him mightily. He ain't flighty; he never gets
mad; and he always knows just what to do, and when to shoot."

Thus, long before he became impatient enough to walk the streets, or
seek consolation on the court-house steps, which he called his
liquor-post, Mr. Sanders had made all the arrangements necessary to the
success of his scheme. He had sent a suit of clothes to a friend in
Malvern, he had shipped three bales of cotton to the firm of Vardeman &
Stark, who had been informed of the use to which Mr. Sanders desired to
put it; he had hired an ox-cart, and made a covered waggon of it; and
the yoke of oxen he proposed to use had been driven through the country
and were now at Malvern.

In short, no matter how deeply Mr. Sanders might ponder over the matter,
there was nothing he could think of to add to the details of the
arrangement that he had already made.

One morning, while Nan, who was on her way to borrow a book from Eugenia
Claiborne, was leaning on the court-house fence talking to Mr. Sanders,
Tasma Tid cried out, "Yonner dee come! yonner dee come!" The African,
who had heard the rumour that the Yankees were after Mr. Sanders,
concluded that this was the advance guard, and she therefore sounded the
alarm. But only a solitary rider was in sight, and he was coming as fast
as a tired horse could fetch him. By the time this rider had reached the
public square, Mr. Sanders had mounted the Racking Roan, and was
awaiting him. The rider was no other than Colonel Blasengame, who had
insisted on bringing the message himself.

He was the bearer of a telegram addressed to Major Perdue.