between Samson and Patty
Cannon, in her kitchen, next to the bar, where Hulda heard laughing and
invitations to drink, and all the sounds of perfect equality, the
negro's piquant sayings and _bonhommie_ seeming to disarm and please the
designing woman, whose familiarity was at once her influence and her
weakness, and she lavished her sociable nature on blacks and whites.
Samson was so fearless and observing that he betrayed no interest in
escaping, and came slowly into the range of her temperament; but, as
Hulda peeped, towards midnight, into the kitchen, she saw old Samson
kindly patting juba, while Patty was executing a drunken dance.

As the latter dropped upon a pallet bed she had there, and fell into a
doze, the colored man quietly raised the latch and walked off the tavern
porch.

* * * * *

In the morning dawn horses and voices were heard by Hulda, and she
recognized Joe Johnson's steps in the house. He shook Patty Cannon, but
could not awaken her; then looked into Van Dorn's room, and found Hulda,
apparently sound asleep, and heard his name called by Allan McLane
across the hall:

"Joe! not so loud. Be conservative. Come in; I'm waiting for you. Is all
done and fetched?"

"The bloke with the steeple felt will never snickle," spoke the ruffian.

"Good, good, Joe! Vengeance is mine, and it's a conservative saying. My
dear sister is at peace."

"The two yaller pullets have slipped you; the abigail mizzled to the
funeral with your niece, and t'other dell must have smelt us, and hopped
the twig."

"Not tasteful language at all, Joe. I don't understand you. Where are
the two bright wenches, Virgie and Roxy?"

"Roxie's in Baltimore; Virgie's run away."

"Run? Where? Don't trifle with me, Joe Johnson! Conservative as I am, I
don't like it, sir. Where could she have run?"

"There's no way for her to slip us but by water or through the Cypress
Swamp, Colonel. She ain't safe this side of Cantwell's bridge. Word has
gone out, and every road is watched."

"But Van Dorn is beaten back; he hasn't made a single capture; the
niggers drove him out of Dover with firearms, and he is wounded
somewhere."

The tall kidnapper turned pale, and then consigned Van Dorn's shade to
eternal torment.

"Don't swear before me, sir!" McLane, also irritated, exclaimed. "It's
not conservative, and I won't permit it. How do I know Meshach Milburn
is dead? who did it?"

"Black Dave fired the barker