Again the boy went down the hill, now toward the tool house; he was
brave enough, but a sort of horror gripped him as he rounded the corner
of the little shack. What, then, was his relief when he found the
watchman on his feet, a bit uncertain about his balance and leaning
against the door frame. It was evident from the way he held his club
that he meant not to desert his post and that he believed his late
assailant was returning. At sight of Gus, the colored man's relief
showed in his drawn face.

"Mist' Gus! It's you, honey! My Lawd! Ah done been shot! By the ghos',
Mist' Gus, whut ain't nothin' no mo'n dat low-down, no 'count nephew o'
ol' Mist' Hooper's. Ah reckon Ah's gwine die, but Ah ain't yit--not ef
he's comin' back!"

"Good boy, George! You're the stuff! But you're not going to die and
he's not coming back. He lit out like a rabbit. Come now; we'll go to a
doctor and then--"

"Reckon Ah can't do it. Got hit in de hip some'ers; makes mah leg total
wuthless. You-all go on an' Ah'll git me some res' yere till mawnin'."

"And maybe bleed nearly to death! No, I'll be back for you in no
time,--as soon as I get Miss Grace home. She's on the hill there. She
came out to watch that cousin of hers. You hang on till I get back."

Grace tried to show her usual energy, but seemed nearly overcome by
fatigue. She made no complaint, but presently Gus saw that she was
crying, and that scared him. In his inexperience he could not know that
it was only overwrought nerves. He felt he must make speed in carrying
out his intentions to get help to George and put the authorities on the