“God Almighty, theyre here. After me. On me. All along the road I saw their eyes flaring from the cane. Hounds. Shouts. What in God’s name did I run here for? A mud-hole trap. I stumbled on a rope. O God, a rope. Their clammy hands were like the love of death playing up and down my spine. Trying to trip my legs. To trip my spine. Up and down my spine. My spine... My legs... Why in hell didn’t they catch me?” Kabnis wheels around, half defiant, half numbed with a more immediate fear. “Wanted to trap me here. Get out o there. I see you.” He grabs a broom from beside the chimney and violently pokes it under the bed. The broom strikes a tin wash-tub. The noise bewilders. He recovers. “Not there. In the closet.” He throws the broom aside and grips the poker. Starts towards the closet door, towards somewhere in the perfect blackness behind the chimney. “I’ll brain you.” He stops short. The barks of hounds, evidently in pursuit, reach him. A voice, liquid in distance, yells, “Hi! Hi!” “O God, theyre after me. Holy Father, Mother of Christ—hell, this aint no time for prayer—” Voices, just outside the door: “Reckon he’s here.” “Dont see no light though.” The door is flung open. Kabnis: Get back or I’ll kill you. He braces himself, brandishing the poker. Halsey (coming in): Aint as bad as all that. Put that thing down. Layman: Its only us, Professor. Nobody else after y. Kabnis: Halsey. Layman. Close that door. Dont light that light. For godsake get away from there. Halsey: Nobody’s after y, Kabnis, I’m tellin y. Put that thing down an get yourself together. Kabnis: I tell you they are. I saw them. I heard the hounds. Halsey: These aint th days of hounds an Uncle Tom’s Cabin, feller. White folks aint in fer all them theatrics these days. Theys more direct than that. If what they wanted was t get y, theyd have just marched right in an took y where y sat. Somebodys down by th branch chasin rabbits an atreein possums. A shot is heard. Halsey: Got him, I reckon. Saw Tom goin out with his gun. Tom’s pretty lucky most times. He goes to the bureau and lights the lamp. The circular fringe is patterned on the ceiling. The moving shadows of the men are huge against the bare wall boards. Halsey walks up to Kabnis, takes the poker from his grip, and without more ado pushes him into a chair before the dark hearth. Halsey: Youre a mess. Here, Layman. Get some trash an start a fire. Layman fumbles around, finds some newspapers and old bags, puts them in the hearth, arranges the wood, and kindles the fire. Halsey sets a black iron kettle where it soon will be boiling. Then takes from his hip-pocket a bottle of corn licker which he passes to Kabnis. Halsey: Here. This’ll straighten y out a bit. Kabnis nervously draws the cork and gulps the licker down. Kabnis: Ha. Good stuff. Thanks. Thank y, Halsey.