the
loins, and, as she hung there, moaning with agony, and shivering with
cold, it seemed one mass of streaming gore.

The brawny black, whom Boss Joe had so eccentrically addressed at the
negro meeting, years before, was in the act of whipping the woman; but
with one bound, young Preston was on him. Wrenching the whip from his
hand, he turned on his master, crying out:

'Untie her, you white-livered devil, or I'll plough your back as you've
ploughed hers!'

'Don't interfere here, you d--d whelp!' shouted Dawsey, livid with rage,
and drawing his revolver.

'I'll give you enough of that, you cowardly hound!' cried Joe, taking a
small Derringer from his pocket, and coolly advancing upon Dawsey.

The latter levelled his pistol, but, before he could fire, by a
dexterous movement of my cane, I struck it from his hand. Drawing
instantly a large knife, he rushed on me. The knife was descending--in
another instant I should have 'tasted Southern steel,' had not Frank
caught his arm, wrenched the weapon from his grasp, and with the fury of
an aroused tiger, sprung on him and borne him to the ground. Planting
his knee firmly on Dawsey's breast, and twisting his neckcloth tightly
about his throat, Frank yelled out:

'Stand back. Let _me_ deal with him!'

'But you will kill him.'

'Well, he would have killed _you_!' he cried, tightening his hold on
Dawsey's throat.

'Let him up, Frank. Let the devil have fair play,' said Joe; 'I'll give
him a chance at ten paces.'

'Yes, let him up, my son; he is unarmed.'

Frank slowly and reluctantly released his hold, and the woman-whipper
rose. Looking at us for a moment--a mingled look of rage and
defiance--he turned, without speaking, and took some rapid strides up
the bank.

'Hold on, Colonel Dawsey!' cried Joe, elevating his Derringer; 'take
another step, and I'll let daylight through you. You've just got to
promise you won't whip this woman, or take your chance at ten paces.'

[I afterward learned that Joe was deadly sure with the pistol.]

Dawsey turned slowly round, and, in a sullen tone, asked:

'Who are you, _gentlemen_, that interfere with my private affairs?'

'_My_ name, sir, is Kirke, of New York; and this young man is my son.'

'Not Mr. Kirke, my factor?'

'The same, sir.'

'Well, Mr. Kirke, I'm sorry to say you're just now in d--d pore
business.'

'I _have_ been, sir. I've done yours for some years, and I'm heartily
ashamed of it. I'll try to mend in tha