We left Grice about 8 p. m. and set out for Chadbourn, some three miles off. We had gone perhaps a mile on the return journey when I observed another darkey leading up a close rear. I didn't like this for a cent, however I kept quiet, and our dusky follower soon came up quite close. My grandfather, Dr. Hicks, of Rocky Mount, N. C., famous for his writings and adventures of Civil War life, has many a time illustrated to me where strategem is better than strength. On one occasion, when he was a young man, he was proceeding along a lonely country road. It was nearly dark and several miles to the nearest house, and in those days houses were scarce and the people were more lawless, and, suddenly, a thick set, fierce looking man, holding a stout cudgel in his hand, emerged from the dense woods, which were on either side of the road, and began quickly to overtake him. That my grandfather was pretty well scared can well be imagined, but being a ventriloquist and full of tricks, he soon dispatched his enemy. Glancing into the woods nearby, he shouted: "Come on Jim!" then using his powers of ventriloquism, a hoarse voice close at hand seemed to say, "All right, be there in a minute." The next moment the man who had been following him plunged deep into the forest and grandfather was left to proceed alone. That these two men were in collusion and had designs on robbing me I now felt convinced. Our late addition had drawn up dangerously close. It was pitch dark, and evidently he was unaware I had discovered his presence in the party, and the other fellow was exerting himself about this time to keep me entertained with stories of "hobo" life. It was up to me to use strategem, and use it quick! "Confound the luck!" I exclaimed, "I forgot those pistol balls back at the store, but it is all right, Bill"--Bill was the name he had called himself at the pump--"my little Iver Johnson is full loaded, and good for at least five brakemen. Ha! ha! ha! they had better let us go through to Florence, I guess." Most darkies are afraid of a gun in a white man's hand, and these were no exceptions. The third man was not long in speaking out, and as if he had just joined us. "Howdy, gentlemen," was the expressive salutation, "going over to Chadbourn?" "Yes," I retorted. "We's gwyne down to Florida," supplemented Bill. "Dat's strange, I'se gwyne dat way myself," muttered the darkey, "let me go too." "We don't own de roads," shrewdly observed the man named Bill. "Well, I'll go den," declared the newcomer, and thus they arranged it to suit themselves, and I said nothing, though I mentally concluded to shift them both at the first opportunity. One at a time we filed across the main street of Chadbourn an hour later, and, undiscovered, made our way to a large pile of railroad ties some two hundred yards from the depot.