So there stood the brave Southerners encircling that devoted block, and firing into it at random, no one having yet attempted search under the houses where the negroes would be the most likely to secrete themselves. But Captain Doc, escaping the bullets, called in subdued tones under several of the dwellings, and received two or three responses. “Yo’ll get ketched here, bye-and-bye,” said he, “shor as the worl. Yo’ come along, an’ I’ll get yo’ in a better place.” With the end of his gun he knocked a few bricks from the walled underpinning of a building that was nearer the ground than the others. “Crawl in, an’ I’ll brick yo’ up.” They obeyed with alacrity, and he replaced the bricks and went in search of other parties. Looking out from a little cornfield, he saw one of the men whom he sought, run across an adjacent garden, and called to him. The fugitive was the Town Marshal, or chief of police. Bewildered by fight, or not recognizing the voice, the man ran on and leaped the fence into Mercer street. The moon had now arisen, and shone very brightly. “We’ve got you now!” shouted Harry Gaston, with a terrible oath; and with several of his comrades immediately surrounded Carr. “We’ve got you now! You’ve been Town Marshal long enough. Going around here and arresting white men; but you won’t arrest any more after to-night.” “Mr. Gaston,” said the Marshal with the assured voice and manner of an innocent man. “Gaston, I know yo’, and will ask yo’ to save my life. I havn’t done anything to yo’. I have only done my duty as Town Marshal.” “Y-e-s,” replied Gaston with a sneer. “Your knowing me a’n’t nothing. I don’t care nothing about your marshalship. I ha’n’t forgot that five dollars you made me pay for dipping my head in Ben’s Spring, and I’ll have satisfaction to-night, for we’re going to kill you;” and the six men all fired upon the unarmed Marshal at once. “Oh Lord! Oh Lord!” cried the unfortunate man. “You call on the Lord, you —— ——?” said they. “Oh Lord! Oh Lord!” rang out loud and clear upon the midnight air, and as he uttered the words a second time they fired again, and he fell. While his flesh still quivered, southern chivalry proceeded to draw a pair of genteel boots from his feet, and a valuable watch from his pocket; and then left him with the stars gazing into his dead face, and the witnessing angels noting testimony for the inquest of a just heaven. Captain Doc had climbed upon a timber of the railroad trestle, and was looking through the tassels of corn which grew around him and made a friendly shade. “By ——!” said one of the ruffians, “I reckon some of us had better go over in that cornfield. There’s good hunting thar, I reckon.”