If we win, they'll come back. If we don't, they'll take refuge
in Sharpsville." I found his matter-of-factness a bit ghastly, as if the actuality of
the uprising were an assured fact. "Well, what have you done?" I demanded. "Ain't much we could do," he confessed. "The niggers ain't made no open
move, outside of killin' Ridge Jackson; and we couldn't prove who done
that, or why they done it. "They ain't done nothin' but clear out. But that's mighty suspicious. We can't keep from thinkin' Saul Stark's behind it." "Who is this fellow?" I asked. "I told you all I know, already. He got permission to settle in that
old deserted cabin on the Neck; a great big black devil that talks
better English than I like to hear a nigger talk. But he was respectful
enough. He had three or four big South Carolina bucks with him, and a
brown wench which we don't know whether she's his daughter, sister,
wife or what. He ain't been in to Grimesville but that one time, and a
few weeks after he came to Canaan, the niggers begun actin' curious. Some of the boys wanted to ride over to Goshen and have a showdown, but
that's takin' a desperate chance." I knew he was thinking of a ghastly tale told us by our grandfathers
of how a punitive expedition from Grimesville was once ambushed
and butchered among the dense thickets that masked Goshen, then a
rendezvous for runaway slaves, while another red-handed band devastated
Grimesville, left defenseless by that reckless invasion. "Might take all the men to get Saul Stark," said McBride. "And we don't
dare leave the town unprotected. But we'll soon have to--hello, what's
this?" *       *       *       *       *

We had emerged from the trees and were just entering the village of
Grimesville, the community center of the white population of Canaan. It
was not pretentious. Log cabins, neat and white-washed, were plentiful
enough. Small cottages clustered about big, old-fashioned houses which
sheltered the rude aristocracy of that backwoods democracy. All the
"planter" families lived "in town". "The country" was occupied by their
tenants, and by the small independent farmers, white and black. A small log cabin stood near the point where the road wound out of the
deep forest. Voices emanated from it, in accents of menace, and a tall
lanky figure, rifle in hand, stood at the door. "Howdy, Esau!" this man hailed us. "By golly, if it ain't Kirby
Buckner! Glad to see you, Kirby." "What's up, Dick?" asked McBride. "Got a nigger in the shack, tryin' to make him talk. Bill Reynolds seen
him sneakin' past the edge of town about daylight, and nabbed him." "Who is it?" I asked. "Tope Sorley. John Willoughby's gone after a blacksnake." With a smothered oath I swung off my horse and strode in, followed
by McBride. Half a dozen men in boots and gun-belts clustered about
a pathetic figure cowering on an old broken bunk. Tope Sorley (his
forebears had adopted the name of the family that owned them, in slave
days) was a pitiable sight just then. His skin was ashy, his teeth
chattered spasmodically, and his eyes seemed to be trying to roll back
into his head. "Here's Kirby!" ejaculated one of the men as I pushed my way through
the group. "I'll bet he'll make this coon talk!" "Here comes John with the blacksnake!" shouted someone, and a tremor
ran through Tope Sorley's shivering body. I pushed aside the butt of the ugly whip thrust eagerly into my hand. "Tope," I said, "you've worked one of my father's farms for years. Has
any Buckner ever treated you any way but square?" "Nossuh," came faintly. "Then what are you afraid of? Why don't you speak up? Something's going
on in the swamps. _You_ know, and I want you to tell us--why the town
niggers have all run away, why Ridge Jackson was killed, why the swamp
niggers are acting so mysteriously." "And what kind of devilment that cussed Saul Stark's cookin' up over on
Tularoosa!" shouted one of the men. Tope seemed to shrink into himself at the mention of Stark. "I don't dast," he shuddered. "He'd put me in de swamp!" "Who?" I demanded. "Stark? Is Stark a conjer man?" Tope sank his head in his hands and did not answer. I laid my hand on
his shoulder. "Tope," I said, "you know if you'll talk, we'll protect you. If you
don't talk, I don't think Stark can treat you much rougher than these
men are likely to. Now spill it--what's it all about?" He lifted desperate eyes. "You-all got to lemme stay here," he shuddered. "And guard me, and
gimme money to git away on when de trouble's over." "We'll do all that," I agreed instantly. "You can stay right here in
this cabin, until you're ready to leave for New Orleans or wherever you
want to go." He capitulated, collapsed, and words tumbled from his livid lips. "Saul Stark's a conjer man. He come here because it's way off in
back-country. He aim to kill all de white folks in Canaan----"

A growl rose from the group, such a growl as rises unbidden from the
throat of the wolf-pack that scents peril. "He aim to make hisself king of Canaan. He sent me to spy dis mornin'
to see if Mistah Kirby got through. He sent men to waylay him on de
road, cause he knowed Mistah Kirby was comin' back to Canaan. Niggers
makin' voodoo on Tularoosa, for weeks now. Ridge Jackson was goin' to
tell Cap'n Sorley; so Stark's niggers foller him and kill him. That
make Stark mad. He ain't want to _kill_ Ridge; he want to put him in de
swamp with Tunk Bixby and de others." "What are you talking about?" I demanded. Far out in the woods rose a strange, shrill cry, like the cry of a
bird. But no such bird ever called before in Canaan. Tope cried out as
if in answer, and shriveled into himself. He sank down on the bunk in a
veritable palsy of fear. "That was a signal!" I snapped. "Some of you go out there." Half a dozen men hastened to follow my suggestion, and I returned to
the task of making Tope renew his revelations. It was useless. Some
hideous fear had sealed his lips. He lay shuddering like a stricken
animal, and did not even seem to hear our questions. No one suggested
the use of the blacksnake. Anyone could see the negro was paralyzed
with terror. *       *       *       *       *

Presently the searchers returned, empty-handed. They had seen no one,
and the thick carpet of pine needles showed no foot-prints. The men
looked at me expectantly. As Colonel Buckner's son, leadership was
expected of me. "What about it, Kirby?" asked McBride. "Breckinridge and the others
have just rode in. They couldn't find that nigger you cut up." "There was another nigger I hit with a pistol," I said. "Maybe he came
back and helped him." Still I could not bring myself to mention the
brown girl. "Leave Tope alone. Maybe he'll get over his scare after a
while. Better keep a guard in the cabin all the time. The swamp niggers
may try to get him as they got Ridge Jackson. Better scour the roads
around the town, Esau; there may be some of them hiding in the woods." "I will.