too. We was pinted toward a place on the railroad called Smithtown, but
when we found we couldn't get a train from there till ten o'clock that
night anyhow, and it was only three miles away, we said we'd stay.

After supper we calculated we'd better move. But the old man wouldn't
hear of us walking that three miles. So about eight o'clock he hitched
up a mule to a one-hoss wagon, and we jogged along.

They was a yaller moon sneaking up over the edge of the world when we
started. It was so low down in the sky yet that it threw long shadders
on the road, and they was thick and black ones, too. Because they was a
lot of trees alongside the road, and the road was narrow, we went ahead
mostly through the darkness, with here and there patches of moonlight
splashed onto the ground. Doctor Kirby and Old Man Withers was setting
on the seat, still gassing away about books and things, and I was
setting on the suit case in the wagon box right behind 'em. Sam, he was
sometimes in the back of the wagon. He had been more'n half asleep all
afternoon, but now it was night he was waked up, the way niggers and
cats will do, and every once in a while he would get out behind and cut
a few capers in a moonlight patch, jest fur the enjoyment of it, and
then run and ketch up with the wagon and crawl in agin, fur it was going
purty slow.

The ground was sandy in spots, and I guess we made a purty good load fur
Beck, the old mule. She stopped, going up a little slope, after we had
went about a mile from the Witherses'. Sam says he'll get out and walk,
fur the wheels was in purty deep, and it was hard going.

"Giddap, Beck!" says the old man.

But Beck, she won't. She don't stand like she is stuck, neither, but
like she senses danger somewheres about. A hoss might go ahead into
danger, but a mule is more careful of itself and never goes butting in
unless it feels sure they is a way out.

"Giddap," says the old man agin.

But jest then the shadders on both sides of the road comes to life. They
wakes up, and moves all about us. It was done so sudden and quiet it was
half a minute before I seen it wasn't shadders but about thirty men had
gathered all about us on every side. They had guns.

"Who are you? What d'ye want?" asts the old man, startled, as three or
four took care of the mule's head very quick and quiet.

"Don't be skeered, Daddy Withers," says a drawly voice out of the dark;
"we ain't goin' to hurt YOU. We got a little matter o