till he must have slumbered soundly or
he would have heard the faint scream and the hoarse, muffled voice that
came up from his mother's room shortly after midnight, or been awakened
by the swift rush of the two figures who hastened up the stairs and
through the wide-open door into his room. The figures were there, but
the first Marcy knew of it was when one turned up the lamp and the other
laid a heavy hand upon his shoulder. Then he opened his eyes and tried
to sit up, but was pressed back upon his pillow at the same instant that
the cold, sharp muzzle of a revolver was put against his head.

"Keep still now, you pore white trash, and you is all right," said the
man who held the revolver. "Make a noise, and you is all wrong, kase
you'll be dead quick's a cat can bat her eye. You heah me? Git up!"

[Illustration: THE MASKED ROBBERS.]

Any sense of fear that might have come upon Marcy Gray, if he had been
given time to think twice, was lost in profound astonishment. The man
talked like a negro; but in those days negroes were not given to doing
desperate deeds of this sort. Hardly realizing what he was doing, Marcy
threw off the bedclothes and sat up; and as he did so, the man who had
turned up the lamp snatched the pillows from the bed and took possession
of the brace of revolvers he found under them. Marcy looked at the
pillows that were flung upon the floor, and saw that there were dark
stains on both of them. He took short, searching glances at the two men,
and saw the white showing through the black on their faces. By this time
he was wide awake, and trying to nerve himself for the ordeal he saw
before him.

"Git up an' climb into them dry-goods of yourn" commanded the robber,
standing first upon one foot and then on the other, and swaying about
after the manner of a field hand who had suddenly found himself in an
embarrassing situation. "Git into 'em lively. I tol' you, chile. I is de
oberseer now, an' you is de niggah. Hustle 'em on."

"How do you expect me to dress rapidly with only one hand to work with?"
demanded Marcy, who was not frightened out of his senses, even if he was
powerless. "You must give me a little time."

"Well den, what for you go in the wah an' fight the Yankees what want to
give us pore niggahs our freedom?" said the robber. "You done got your
arm broke, an' it serves you jes right. Wisht it had been your head."

Marcy dressed in much less time than he generally did, and when he had
th