That coming day my father rode abroad as he had planned, taking black
Satan for his mount, since he needed to travel far. He had collected
from various sources, as his account book later showed, a sum of over
five thousand dollars, which he must have had in gold and negotiable
papers in his saddle-bags. During his return home, he came down the deep
trough road which ran in front of the Sheraton farms and ours. He passed
near to a certain clump of bushes at the roadside. And there that
happened which brought to a sudden end all the peace and comfort of our
lives, and which made me old before my time.

I heard the horse Satan whinny at our lane gate, wildly, as though in
fright; and even as I went out my heart stopped with sudden fear. He had
leaped the gate at the lower end of the lane. His bridle rein was
broken, and caught at his feet as he moved about, throwing up his head
in fright as much as viciousness. I hastily looked at the saddle, but it
bore no mark of anything unusual. Not pausing to look farther, I caught
the broken reins in my hand, and sprung into the saddle, spurring the
horse down the lane and over the gate again, and back up the road which
I knew my father must have taken.

There, at the side of the road, near the clump of blackberry vines and
sumac growth, lay my father, a long dark blot, motionless, awesome, as
I could see by the light of the moon, now just rising in a gap of the
distant mountains. I sprang down and ran to him, lifted his head, called
to him in a voice so hoarse I did not recognize it. I told him that it
was his son had come to him, and that he must speak. So at last, as
though by sheer will he had held on to this time, he turned his gray
face toward me, and as a dead man, spoke.

"Tell your mother," he said; "Tell Meriwether--must protect--good-by."