he saddle and talked earnestly to the man a
while. It was evidently satisfactory to the other, for he soon
beckoned his companion and started off into the woods.

"Have you representatives from each camp present, Silos?"

The mulatto turned and came back.

"Yes--but the toughest we could get. I'll not stay myself to see it.
I don't like such work, sir--only some one has to do it for the
cause--the cause of freedom, sir."

"Of course--why of course," said Travis. "Old Bisco and his kind are
liable to get all you negroes put back into slavery--if the Democrats
succeed again as they have just done. Give them a good scare."

"We'll fix him to-night, boss," said the black one, grinning good
naturedly. Then he added to himself: "Yes, I'll whip 'em--to death."

"I heard a good deal of talk among the boys, to-night, sir," said the
mulatto. "They all want you for Congress next time."

"Well, we'll talk about that, Silos, later. I must hurry on."

He started, then wheeled suddenly:

"Oh, say, Silos--"

The latter came back.

"Do your work quietly to-night--Just a good scare--If you
disturb"--he pointed to the roof of Westmoreland in the distance
showing above the beech tops. "You know how foolish they are about
old Bisco and his wife--"

"They'll never hear anything." He walked off, saying to himself: "A
nigger who is a traitor to his race ought to be shot, but for fear of
a noise and disturbin' the ladies--I'll hang 'em both,--never fear."

Travis touched his mare with the spur and galloped off.

Uncle Bisco and his wife were rudely awakened. It was nearly midnight
when the door of their old cabin was broken open by a dozen black,
ignorant negroes, who seized and bound the old couple before they
could cry out. Bisco was taken out into the yard under a tree, while
his wife, pleading and begging for her husband's life, was tied to
another tree.

"Bisco," said the leader, "we cum heah to pay you back fur de blood
you drawed frum our backs whilst you hilt de whip ob slabery an'
oberseed fur white fo'ks. An' fur ebry lick you giv' us, we gwi' giv'
you er dozen on your naked back, an' es fur dis ole witch," said the
brute, pointing to old Aunt Charity, "we got de plain docyments on
her fur witchin' Br'er Moses' little gal--de same dat she mek hab
fits, an' we gwi' hang her to a lim'."

The old man drew himself up. In every respect--intelligence, physical
and moral bravery--he was superior to the crowd around him. R