“I reckon we'll go below.” And Calhoun said, referring to Gamp and the gun: “It appears to be about as you say.” Below Turpentine had taken the top off the little stove and was frying something on the coals. Gamp shuffled into a corner, and came out with his fists full of rope, of the size of lanyards or clothesline, and his fists looked like quarters of beef or the ends of battering rams. “Now, I'm puttin' it to ye,” said Mr. Todd, “ain't I treated ye reasonable? But a man's got to be precautions, ain't he? Jemima! Such slippery chaps as you's not goin' to follow me into Norfolk same as trained pups.” “Your argument,” said Calhoun, standing up straight and slim, “is fine, sir, fine.” “My, my!” said Mr. Todd soothingly. “An' I see you an' me's goin' to agree. Business, jus' business. Gamp!” Gamp shuffled up to Calhoun, and Mr. Todd turned to me. But now, so swift an impulse came over me to fight, to run, to leap into the midst of things, that it seemed like a flash and burst, an explosion within me; and I crouched, dodged Mr. Todd, and ran blind-headlong into old Turpentine. We fell together against the stove, sending it flying along the floor, with a crash of pipe and scatter of coals and burning wood all over the com husks and straw. I jumped for the ladder. The straw and husks blazed up behind me. Mr. Todd dropped his gun and ran into the midst of the flame and smoke, stamping and shouting. From the top of the ladder I saw big Gamp dragging Calhoun by the collar, as if he weighed no more than an old coat, dragging him over the gun on the floor. Calhoun's hand touched the gun, and gripped it. How he twisted his feet under him I could not guess. It was something too limber and swift to follow. It seemed one movement to stand up, to swing the old gun two-handed with a crash on big Gamp's head, who dropped in a heap. The gun snapped, the butt spun across the floor, and Calhoun came up the ladder with the barrel. I caught but a glimpse from the deck into the smoky red pit below, saw Mr. Todd stamping, saw big Gamp rising, with horrible, glaring eyes and dripping mouth, heard him roar like a bull from the bottom of his throat. Turpentine sat up on the floor, rubbing his scalp: “An' mah name's Tuppentine.” Then Calhoun slammed down the scuttle and slipped the padlock. We jumped for the shore and ran. There were woods beyond the tow path but a short distance, and no house was in sight. “They'll burn!” I cried, as we reached the woods. “Burn!” said Calhoun. “The nigger'll smash the scuttle with his finger. Burn!” I looked over my shoulder, and half saw the great black head and shoulders heave up through the splintered scuttle. We ran on through the open woods, circling towards the north. It was growing dusky, and, when we came to the open fields, it was dark enough for lights to be burning in a distant cluster of cabins. Then we found a railroad track running east and west. “They'll hunt us this way!” I said gasping, and Calhoun: