"Why?"

"If they get Toot out, it would be just like him to try to-- You--you
are not strong enough to get out of their way. Oh, I don't know what
to do!" She went back to the window in the next room. He followed her,
and stood by her side.

The white figures had dismounted at the jail. They paused at the gate
a moment, then filed into the yard and stood at the door. The leader
rapped on it loudly.

"Hello in thar, Tarpley Brown, show yorese'f!" he cried.

There was a silence for a moment. In the moonlight the body of men
looked like a snowdrift against the jail. The same voice spoke again:

"Don't you keep us waitin' long, nuther, Tarp. You kin know what sort
we are by our grave-clothes ef you'll take the trouble to peep out o'
the winder."

"What do you-uns want?" It was the quavering voice of the jailer, from
the wing of the house occupied by him and his family.

His voice roused a sleeping infant, and it began to cry. The cry was
smothered by some one's hand over the child's mouth.

"You know what we-uns want," answered the leader. "We come after Toot
Wambush; turn 'im out, ef you know what's good fer you."