The trembling slid from him, and his muscles hardened. There was
no trace of rheumatic stiffness in his movements. With a bound
he struck the chain-traces from the singletree at Nancy's heels.
He caught the hames, leaped on her back, and digging his heels
into her sides, he stretched along her neck like an Indian and
raced across the corn field. Nancy's twenty years slipped from
her as her master's sixty had from him. Without understanding
the emergency, she knew that he required all the speed there was
in her; and with trace-chains rattling and beating on her heels,
she stretched out until she fairly swept the young corn, as she
raced for the sumac. Once Abram straightened, and slipping a
hand into his pocket, drew out a formidable jack-knife, opening
it as he rode. When he reached the fence, he almost flew over
Nancy's head. He went into a fence corner, and with a few
slashes severed a stout hickory withe, stripping the leaves and
topping it as he leaped the fence.

He grasped this ugly weapon, his eyes dark with anger as he
appeared before the hunter, who supposed him at the other side of
the field.

"Did you shoot at that redbird?" he roared.

As his gun was at the sportman's shoulder, and he was still
peering among the bushes, denial seemed useless. "Yes, I did,"
he replied, and made a pretense of turning to the sumac again.

There was a forward impulse of Abram's body. "Hit 'im?" he
demanded with awful calm.