“Boo!” cried Danny Lemmons, making a horrible grimace; “you don’t know what you’re a-talkin’ about. The gals all ’low I’m mighty sweet. You ought to see me when I’m rigged out in my Sunday-go-to-meetin’ duds. Polly Powers she ’lows I look snatchin’. Lord, yes! Yes, siree! I’m gwine down to Polly’s house now.” Whereat he broke out singing, paraphrasing an old negro ditty, and capering about in the woods like mad. “Oh, I went down to Polly’s house, An’ she was not at home; I set myself in the big arm-cheer An’ beat on the ol’ jaw bone. Oh, rise up, Polly! Slap ’im on the jaw, An hit ’im in the eyeball—bim!” The song finished, Danny Lemmons walked on down the road ahead of the horse in the most unconcerned manner. It was part of Captain Moseley’s plan to stop at Mrs. Spurlock’s and inquire for Israel. This seemed to be a part of Danny’s plan also, for he turned out of the main road and went ahead, followed by the captain. There were quite a number of men at Mrs. Spurlock’s when Moseley rode up, and he noticed that all were armed. Some were standing listlessly about, leaning against the trees, some were sitting in various postures, and others were squatting around whittling: but all had their guns within easy reach. Mrs. Spurlock was walking about among them smoking her pipe. By the strained and awkward manner of the men as they returned his salutation, or by some subtle instinct he could not explain, Captain Moseley knew that these men were waiting for him, and that he was their prisoner. The very atmosphere seemed to proclaim the fact. Under his very eyes Danny Lemmons changed from a grinning buffoon into a quiet, self-contained man trained to the habit of command. Recognizing the situation, the old soldier made the most of it by retaining his good humor. “Well, boys,” he said, flinging a leg over the pommel of his saddle, “I hope you are not tired waiting for me.” The men exchanged glances in a curious, shame-faced sort of way. “No,” said one; “we was thes a-settin’ here talkin’ ’bout ol’ times. We ’lowed maybe you’d sorter git tangled up on the hill thar, and so Danny Lemmons, he harked back for to keep a’ eye on you.” There was no disposition on the part of this quiet group of men to be clamorous or boastful. There was a certain shyness in their attitude, as of men willing to apologize for what might seem to be unnecessary rudeness.