alance upon the farther
side, stretched over a cattle pasture into the thick cover of the woods.

As he reached the summit of the first hill, he saw the Major's coach
creeping slowly up the incline, and heard the old gentleman scolding
through the window at Congo on the box.

"My dear Major, home's the place for you," he said as he drew rein. "Is it
possible that the news hasn't reached you yet?"

Remembering Congo, he spoke cautiously, but the Major, in his anger, tossed
discretion to the winds.

"Reached me?--bless my soul!--do you take me for a ground hog?" he cried,
thrusting his red face through the window. "I met Tom Bickels four miles
back, and the horses haven't drawn breath since. But it's what I expected
all along--I was just telling Congo so--it all comes from the mistaken
tolerance of black Republicans. Let me open my doors to them to-day, and
they'll be tempting Congo to murder me in my bed to-morrow."

"Go 'way f'om yer, Ole Marster," protested Congo from the box, flicking at
the harness with his long whip.

The Governor looked a little anxiously at the negro, and then shook his
head impatiently. Though a less exacting master than the Major, he had not
the same childlike trust in the slaves he owned.

"Shall you not turn back?" he asked, surprised.

"Champe's there," responded the Major, "so I came on for the particulars. A
night in town isn't to my liking, but I can't sleep a wink until I hear a
thing or two. You're going out, eh?"

"I'm riding home," said the Governor, "it makes me uneasy to be away from
Uplands." He paused, hesitated an instant, and then broke out suddenly.
"Good God, Major, what does it mean?"

The Major shook his head until his long white hair fell across his eyes.

"Mean, sir?" he thundered in a rage. "It means, I reckon, that those damned
friends of yours have a mind to murder you. It means that after all your
speech-making and your brotherly love, they're putting pitchforks into the
hands of savages and loosening them upon you. Oh, you needn't mind Congo,
Governor. Congo's heart's as white as mine."

"Dat's so, Ole Marster," put in Congo, approvingly.

The Governor was trembling as he leaned down from his saddle.

"We know nothing as yet, sir," he began, "there must be some--"

"Oh, go on, go on," cried the Major, striking the carriage window. "Keep up
your speech-making and your handshaking until your wife gets murdered in
her bed--but, by God, sir, if Virginia doe