"It was killin' work. We had to be in the woods by daylight an' stay thar until it was too dark to see. Thar was trouble enough at first but the worst come later. About three years ago a lot mo' huts was put up an' the stockade was made bigger. We thought things would be easier as the new men would get all the knockin' about. Nex' week the new crowd came,--they were convic's hired for the job." "Excuse my interrupting, Colonel Egerius," asked the lad, "but can that be true? Does any State hire out its convicts to forced labor?" "Some do," was the reply, "and Florida is one of them. Go on, boy." "Floggin's started in when the convicts come, an' thar was no difference made between us an' them. We were supposed to be paid, but our pay was always in tickets to the comp'ny store, an' they charged double prices for everythin'. They never gave us a cent o' money. A lot of us got together an' decided to escape, but when it come to doin' it, only three would go. One got away entirely, one was shot, an' Ah was caught. They took me to the stockade an' whipped me 'mos' to death, three days runnin'. The third day Ah was so near dead that they didn't tie me up, an' when, hours later, Ah did stagger to mah feet, they jes' pointed to the fields whar the hands was workin'. Ah heard one o' the guards say, 'He won't go far,' an' Ah hid in the woods, Ah don' know how long, jes' livin' on berries, an' at las' Ah got away. Ah knew Ah would be safe in Kentucky." The Colonel looked at the man closely. "I believe you've been a bad nigger," he said, "and I wouldn't believe any more of your story than I had to. But it's easy enough to see that you have been abused, and that you need help right now. I'll give you a chance. Peter, your father is staying with you?" "Yas, sah." "Ephraim," the Colonel said, turning to the old preacher, "put this man on the payroll as a field hand, beginning from to-morrow, but don't send him to the field for a couple of weeks. Behave yourself," he added, turning to the peonage victim, "and you'll be all right here." The negro thanked him profusely, and went out, his wretched frame showing up miserably in the strong sunlight as he passed by the window of the dining room. "But that's worse than any slavery I ever heard of," burst out Hamilton indignantly. "Peonage?" answered the old veteran. "Oh, yes, much worse." "And it still goes on?" "There were several hundred stockades in operation last year," was the reply, "and that's a fair sample of their work." [Illustration: HOW MOST OF THE NEGROES LIVE. Type of shack usually seen in Southern States, though the owners are not always in poor circumstances.] CHAPTER VII HOBOES ON THE TRAMP