Thereupon the crowd, with much joking and loud laughter, wandered off toward the town. They assembled in various popular resorts for liquid refreshment, and then went home for the night. Vinegar stood under the tree in the silence and darkness. His first thought was that he would stand like a watchful sentinel all night long. But the novelty of standing guard over a silent, unlighted house soon wore off, especially when, as he expressed it, “standing up ailed his feets.” He sat down “to rest his feets,” removing his shoes for greater comfort. He had spent many years of his life on that hill, and it had always seemed to be a populous place up to that night. Now it was lonely and lonesome; nobody to talk to but himself, a poor listener and an unedifying conversationalist. Sitting upright “ailed his back.” He shuffled along the ground on the seat of his trousers until he felt the trunk of the tree as a support for his spine. Holding the chilly barrel of his shotgun “ailed his hands”; sitting upon the two pistols in his hip pockets “ailed his thighs.” He laid his weapons aside within easy reach. The ground was warmer than the trunk of the tree against which he was leaning. It wouldn’t do for his back to get chilled—he might catch “de Spanish fluence.” So he placed the spine of his back level with the earth and permitted the genial warmth of the soil to permeate his massive frame from his head to his heels. Lying flat upon the ground “ailed his head.” He reached for his shoes, placed them under his head for a pillow, looked straight up in the sky and counted three stars—four—seven—fo’teen—— About that time, eight negroes who had been crouched in very cramped attitudes on the steep roof, stood up to ease themselves and seek more comfortable positions. “How we gwine git word to Vinegar ’thout gittin’ our fool heads shot off?” Pap Curtain whispered, looking down into the yard, where he could see a dark mass under a tree. “Telerphome him,” Little Bit suggested. “Us mought start to sing a religious toon,” Figger Bush, vocalist, proposed. “Dat’ll ca’m his mind an’ make him peaceful.” “Wid all dem guns on him, we wants him to favor peace,” Skeeter agreed. “Singin’ on top of de Shoofly Chu’ch mought ca’m his mind,” Hitch rumbled doubtfully. “But ef he hears singin’ on top of dis house, it mought trouble his mind.” “Don’t whisper so loud,” Dazzle warned the men. “Ef de white folks ketch us up on dis roof dey’ll kill us dead wid guns an’ put us in jail.” “’Twon’t be no worse dan spendin’ de rest of our lives up on de top shelf of dis house,” Pap Curtain retorted. “’Tain’t no reason fer us to set up on top of dis roof,” Hitch Diamond growled. “Us might git sleepy an’ roll off an’ bu’st ourselfs like a water-millyum. Less git down through de trap-door into de attic.” “Of co’se, dat’s de idear!” Skeeter applauded. “Vinegar ain’t guarding but one side of dis house nohow. Us’ll slip out on de yuther side an’ go away from here.”