ted until he heard footsteps crunching in the sand, until he saw a
man in the light that lay for a moment in the road, and then he cried:

"Hello, there, Jim Taylor!"

"Is that you, Uncle Gideon?"

"Yes, Gideon's band of one. Come over here a moment."

"I will as soon as I can find you. What are you doing hiding out in the
dark? The grand jury ain't in session."

"No, I gad, but something else is," he replied.

Jim came forward and put his hand on the horn of the old man's saddle,
which as an expert he did in spite of the shying of the horse; and then
he asked: "Well, what is it, Uncle Gideon?"

"You've heard the rumor that the negroes are drilling at night."

"Yes, what of it?"

"It's a fact, that's what there is of it. Just now I rode quite a ways
with Mayo and he was inclined to be pretty sassy; and right back there I
looked into Gabe Little's cabin and saw him with a gun across his lap."

"Well, what of that? Haven't the negroes had guns ever since the war,
and hasn't a man got the right to sit with his gun across his lap? Uncle
Gideon, I'm afraid you've been putting too much new wine into an old
bottle."

"Soft, Jimmie; it was old liquor, sixty years at least. But I gad, it
strikes me that you are pretty glib to-night. You must have heard
something."

"No, not since Mrs. Cranceford got the letter, but that was enough to
last me a good while."

"Didn't hear about my bereavement, did you?"

"What, you bereaved, Uncle Gideon? How did it happen?"

"At the imperious beck and call of nature, Jimmie. My uncle died and
inflicted on me money enough to make a pretense of paying my debts, and
I've made such a stagger that even Mrs. Cranceford has admitted me into
the out-lying districts of her good opinion. But that's got nothing to
do with the business in hand. Let's go back yonder and find out why
that negro sits there suckling his gun to sleep."

"But if he suckles it to sleep there's no harm in it, Uncle Gideon."

"Ah, clod-head, but it may have bad dreams and wake up with a cry. Let's
go back there."

"Are you in earnest?"

"As earnest as a last will and testament."

"Then let me tell you that I'll do nothing of the sort. You don't catch
me prowling about a man's house at night, and you wouldn't think of such
a thing if you were strictly sober."

"Jimmie, you never saw me drunk."

"No, but I've seen you soberer that you are now."

"An unworthy insinuation, Jimmie. But having great respect for