At last I was aware that my companion had alighted—perhaps he had done so more than once—to pull down a sliprail. This time, whether it was the last, or the only time, the rattle of the timber provoked an outburst of barking, and presently, amid the baying of dogs, a nigger’s voice called out to know who was there. The alarm once given—and the hounds gave it pretty loudly—other voices joined in, in tones of alarm as well as joy. Lights glanced here and there; in a twinkling there were people about us. Black faces and white eyeballs appeared for an instant and sank into shadow. We halted before the porch of a long wooden house, that declared itself, here plainly and there dimly, as the lights fell upon it. I could only endure. But surely the end was come now! Surely there would be rest for me here. They would come to me, they would do something for me presently. Wilmer had gone up on the porch, and there was a woman—a woman in white with her arms about his neck. He was soothing her and she was laughing and crying at once; and about them and about me—who sat in the saddle below, in the dull lethargy of exhaustion—shone a ring of smiling, black faces. And then—here was something new, something startling and alarming—the woman was looking down at me, and speaking quickly and sharply; speaking almost as those other women had spoken at Barter’s. She was pointing at me. And the niggers were no longer laughing but staring, all staring at me. I gathered that they were frightened. It could not be that there was no rest for me here? It could not be that they would not take me in here! Oh, it was impossible, it was inhuman, it was devilish! But I began to tremble. “Anywhere, anywhere but here!” the woman was saying. “It is madness to think of it. You know that, father! Why did you bring him here? When you knew! When you knew, father!” “In the cabins, honey, if you like,” the man answered patiently. “But he’ll not be safe out of our sight.” She flared up. She poured out her anger upon him. “Safe!” she cried. “And what of you? Where will you be safe? And what is it to me if he be not safe? Don’t do it, father, don’t,” she continued, her voice sinking to a note of entreaty. “Don’t bring him here! It will end ill! You will see, it will end ill! Let him go to Barter’s.” “We’ve been to Barter’s—” “And he won’t take him! No! he’s more sense, though the risk to him is small. But you, think how the day has gone, and left you safe and well! And now, now at the end, you will spoil all!” “Let be, Con,” the man struck in, speaking with decision. “He must come in. There’s nothing else for it. We’re not Cherokees, nor savages. There’s nothing else that can be done. You must put up with it, and—”