least her mother would not be standing idle.

Mag cried after her, "Miss Jacky, whar you goin'? Don't you try it,
honey, don't you! How could you stop 'em all by yourself? They might
whip you, too, ef you was to make 'em mad."

"Whip me? _Whip me?_" Jacqueline threw up her head and laughed. Her
purpose had not been clear in her mind, but Mag's plea settled it.

She jerked the pistol out of Lige's belt--an able, well-conditioned
weapon it was, in whose use both girls were as proficient as their
mother. Lige and the breathless pickaninny trotted faithfully beside
her. Jemima's voice could be heard at the telephone, resolute and
distinct, rousing the countryside to the rescue of Henderson. Number
after number she called, gave her brief message, and rang again.

"But I bet we get there first!" murmured Jacqueline, with an excited
giggle. "Three horses out, Lige. Don't stop to saddle. I suppose you can
ride, Caesar Jackson?" She laughed at her own question. Was there ever a
country-born darky, or a city-born one, for that matter, unable to
straddle a horse from the moment he left his cradle?

"Laws, Miss Jacky, what we-all up to dis time?" murmured Lige,
apprehensively. It was not the first time he had followed his divinity
into reckless adventure.

He led out the three horses, amid soft nickering from other stalls.

"They all want to come, the dears! What a pity there's nobody to ride
them! We'd be quite a troop--Storm cavalry to the rescue!" Inspiration
came to her. "Lige, it's awfully dark! Do you suppose it would be seen
that they were riderless?"

"My golly!" chuckled Lige, grasping the situation.

"Fetch 'em all out!"

Herding the riderless horses before them, a feat in which both had had
experience, they took a short cut across back fields to the road that
ran behind Storm hill toward the Henderson cabin. The first of these
fields was known as the hospital pasture, where grazed several mules
recovering from stone-bruises, harness galls, and the like. Mrs. Kildare
always kept invalided stock under her own eyes.

"Suppose," said Jacqueline, suddenly, "that we were to add a few mules
to the regiment?"

Lige and the pickaninny Caesar Jackson responded to this suggestion with
a pleased alacrity. Eleven strong, they galloped into the lower pasture,
where steers were being fattened for market.

"Lige," cried out Jacqueline, "can steers gallop?"

"Dey kin wid me behine 'em. _Whee-ow!_" yelled her faithful henc