ying ammunition, G. D. gun caps, powder-horn, swabs and
rammers, and it past eleven o'clock at night, would have excited but
little interest to the average darky--especially one unaccustomed to the
portents and outcomes of such proceedings.

Not so Alec, who had absorbed the situation at a glance. He had
accompanied his master on two such occasions--one at Bladensburg and the
other on a neighboring estate, when the same suggestive tokens had been
visible, except that those fights took place at daybreak, and after
every requirement of the code had been complied with, instead of under
the flare of smoking pine torches and within a step of the contestant's
front door. He had, besides, a most intimate knowledge of the contents
of the mahogany case, it being part of his duty to see that these
defenders of the honor of all the Rutters--and they had been in frequent
use--were kept constantly oiled and cleaned. He had even cast some
bullets the month before under the colonel's direction. That he was
present to-night was entirely due to the fact that having made a short
cut to the kitchen door in order to hurry some dishes, he had by the
merest chance, and at the precise psychological moment, run bump up
against the warlike party just before they had reached the duelling
ground. This was a well-lighted path but a stone's throw from the porch,
and sufficiently hidden by shrubbery to be out of sight of the ballroom
windows.

The next moment the old man was in full cry to the house. He had heard
the beginning of the trouble while he was carrying out St. George's
orders regarding the two half-emptied bowls of punch and understood
exactly what was going to happen, and why.

"Got de colonel's pistols!" he choked as he sped along the gravel walk
toward the front door the quicker to reach the ballroom--"and Marse
Harry nothin' but a baby! Gor-a-Mighty! Gor-a-Mighty!" Had they all been
grown-ups he might not have minded--but his "Marse Harry," the child he
brought up, his idol--his chum!--"Fo' Gawd, dey sha'n't kill 'im--dey
sha'n't!--DEY SHA'N'T!!"

He had reached the porch now, swung back the door, and with a sudden
spring--it was wonderful how quick he moved--had dashed into the
ballroom, now a maze of whirling figures--a polka having struck up to
keep everybody occupied until the reel was finally made up.

"Marse Talbot!--Marse Talbot!" All domestic training was cast aside, not
a moment could be lost--"All on ye!--dey's murder o