“Don't want no place ter sleep, Neb,” was the answer, in a half-humorous tone. “Don't want ter sleep nowhar 'cep' on my laigs sech times as dese. Er crowd er white men tried ter nab me while I was in my cotton-patch at work dis mawnin' but I made myse'f scarce. Dey hot en heavy after Sam Dudlow; some think he had er hand in de killin'. Dey cayn't find dat nigger, dough.” “Well, good-night, Jim. I got ter git some rest,” and Neb drew his head back and lowered the window-sash. “Jim's all right,” he said, “but I couldn't tek 'im in here. Dem men may 'a' been followin' 'im on de sly.” He advanced to the middle of the room and stood over the crouching figure still noisily eating on the floor. “Pete, Brother Hardcastle got suppin ter 'pose ter you, en we 'ain't got any too much time. We goin' ter tell you 'bout it an leave it ter you. One thing certain, you ain't safe hidin' out like you is, en nobody ain't safe dat he'ps hide you, so I say suppin got ter be done in yo' case.” “I want y'all ter sen' fer Marse Carson,” Pete mumbled, between his gulps. “He kin fix me ef anybody kin.” “That's what we were about to propose, Pete,” said the preacher. “You see--” “Sh!” It was Neb's warning hiss again. All was silence in the room; even Pete paused to listen. It was the low drone of human voices, and many in number, immediately below. A light from a suddenly exposed lantern flashed 'on the walls. Neb approached the window, but afraid even cautiously to raise the sash, he stood breathless. Then through his closed teeth came the words: “We are caught; gen'men, we in fer it certain en sho! Dey done tracked us down!” There was a loud rapping on the door below, a stifled scream from Neb's wife at the foot of the stairs, and then a sharp, commanding voice sounded outside. “Open up, Neb Wynn!” it said. “We are onto your game. Some devilment is in the wind and we are going to know what it is.” Neb suddenly and boldly threw up the sash and looked out. “All right, gen'men, don't bre'k my new lock. I'll be down dar in er minute.” Then quickly turning to Pete, he bent and drew him up. “Mak' er bre'k fer dat winder back dar, slide down de shed-roof, en run fer yo' life. Run!” There was a great clatter of chairs and feet in the group of men, a crashing of a thin window-sash in the rear, a heavy, thumping sound on a roof outside, and a loud shout from lusty throats below. “There he goes! Catch 'im! Head 'im off! Shoot 'im!” Then darkness, chaos, and terror reigned. CHAPTER XIX. [Illustration: 9175]