ed from jug to tin-cup. "A single fox kin
hide out whar a pack of wolves would hev ter shew themselves," he said.
"I estimate thet he's got mebby a half dozen--an' afore long now we'll
hev ther hides of ther outfit nailed up an' dryin' out."

At length the host arose and stretched his arms sleepily. "I reckon
hit's mighty nigh time ter lay down," he suggested, and as yawning lips
assented he added, "Be quiet a minute--I want ter listen. 'Pears like
ther storm's done plumb spent hitself an' abated."

A silence fell upon them, and then as an uncanny and inexplicable sound
came to their ears, they stood transfixed, and into their bewilderment
crept an unconfessed hint of panic. Their eyes dilated as though they
had been confronted by an apparition, and yet none of them was
accounted timorous.

"Hell an' tormint, what _air_ thet?" whispered Jim Towers in a hissing
undertone.

They all fell into attitudes of concentrated attention--bent forward
and listening. Out in the night where there had been only the lashing
of wind, rose a swell of song, bursting confidently and ominously from
human throats. It sounded like a mighty chorus carried on the lips of a
marching host, and with its martial assurance it brought a terrifying
menace.

"I've heered thet song afore," quavered the woman, whose lips were
ashen as she rose out of her obscurity. "Hit's called ther Battle
Hymn--my daddy l'arned hit in ther war over slavery ... hit says
su'thin 'bout 'My eyes hes seed ther Glory of ther comin' of ther
Lord!'"

"Shet up, woman," commanded her husband, roughly. "I'm a-listenin'."

Towers braced himself against a nameless foreboding and went cautiously
to the door, picking up his rifle on the way. The other men,
instinctively drifted toward their weapons, too, though they felt it to
be as futile a defense as arming against ghosts.

Soon the master of the house was back, with a face of greenish pallor.
He licked his lips and stammered in his effort at speech.

"I kain't ... in no fashion ... make hit out--" he admitted. "Thar's a
host of torches comin' hither.... They're flamin' like es ef hell
hitself war a-marchin' in on us!"

The woman threw herself down on her knees and fell into hysterical and
incoherent prayer.

For a little space the men stood irresolute, divided between a wild
impulse to seek hiding in the timber and a sentiment in favor of
pinning their trust to the strength of solid walls and barred doors.

But upo