"Say Jake, won't you ask us in to have something warm to drink?" cried another Vigilant. Watson edged a trifle nearer to Hare, and whispered: "Send 'em away at once, or else----" Once bring the Vigilants into the house, as the soldier knew, and capture or death would be the result. Hare could almost feel the cold muzzle of the revolver near his head. "Go away, fellows," he called, "You know I ain't got nothing for you." A jeer, and a few sarcastic groans greeted this remark. "I always reckoned you was a skinflint," yelled one of the party. There was a derisive cheer at this sally. Then, at a word of command, the Vigilants turned their horses and cantered back towards Jasper. The sound of hoofs became fainter and fainter. "Shut the door," ordered Watson, "and go back to the kitchen." Sullenly the farmer obeyed. When the two were once more by the blazing hearth, George and Macgreggor, who had been guarding Mrs. Hare and the negress, rushed forward to grasp the hands of their deliverer. They were about to congratulate him upon his successful nerve and diplomacy when he interrupted them. "Don't bother about that," he said; "let us get away from here as soon as possible, before our kind host has a chance to play us any more tricks." "I suppose you think yourself pretty smart, don't you?" snapped Hare, casting a spiteful glance at Watson. "So smart," put in George, "that if you don't want to be laughed at from now until the day of your death you'd better not tell the citizens of Jasper about to-night's occurrences." "Come, boys, let us be going," exclaimed Watson impatiently, as he offered his hand to Mrs. Hare, and said to that lady: "Thank you for the best supper we've had since we left--home." Mrs. Hare refused to shake hands, but she regarded Watson with an admiring expression. "I won't shake hands with you," she replied, half smiling, "for you may be an enemy of the South, but I'm glad you've escaped hanging. You've too much grit for that. As for you, Jake, don't ever pretend to us again that you're the brainiest man in the county." "Hold your tongue, woman," cried the amiable farmer. In a couple of minutes the three travelers were striking out from the back of the house into the slush, and rain, and blackness of the night. Waggie was occupying his usual place inside a pocket of George's overcoat. He had supped regally at the Hares on bacon and bones, and he felt warm and at peace with the world. Before the party had more than emerged from the garden (a task by no means easy in itself, on account of the darkness), something whistled by them, to the accompaniment of a sharp report. Looking behind them they saw the meagre form of Hare standing in the kitchen doorway. He held a rifle in his right hand. The kitchen fire made him plainly visible. "Pretty good aim, old boy," shouted Macgreggor, "considering you could hardly see us. But I can see you plainly enough."