“He’s most dead. I found him down in the woods lying in a gully, one leg is broken, there’s a big gash over his eye, his back is beat to a jelly, and one of his arms is broken. We put him in the wagon, and hauled him to the house. I’m afraid he’s dead now. Oh me!” The boy broke down and choked with sobs. “Run, Charlie, for the doctor, and I’ll be there in a minute.” The boy flew through the gate to the doctor’s house. When the Preacher reached Mrs. Gaston’s, Aunt Eve was wiping the blood from Nelse’s mouth. “De Lawd hab mussy! My po’ ole man’s done kilt.” “Who could have done this, Eve?” “Dem Union Leaguers. Dey say dey wuz gwine ter kill him fur not jinin’ ’em, en fur tryin’ ter vote ergin ’em.” “I’ve been afraid of it,” sighed the Preacher as he felt Nelse’s pulse. “Yassir, en now dey’s done hit. My po’ ole man. I wish I’d a been better ter ’im. Lawd Jesus, help me now!” Eve knelt by the bed and laid her face against Nelse’s while the tears rained down her black face. “Aunt Eve, it may not be so bad,” said the Preacher hopefully. “His pulse is getting stronger. He has an iron constitution. I believe he will pull through, if there are no internal injuries.” “Praise God! ef he do git well, I tell yer now, Marse John, I fling er spell on dem niggers bout dis!” “I am afraid you can do nothing with them. The courts are all in the hands of these scoundrels, and the Governor of the state is at the head of the Leagues.” “I doan want no cotes, Marse John, I’se cote ennuf. I kin cunjure dem niggers widout any cote.” The doctor pronounced his injuries dangerous but not necessarily fatal. Charlie and Dick watched with Eve that night until nearly midnight. Nelse opened his eyes, and saw the eager face of the boy, his eyes yet red from crying. “I aint dead, honey!” he moaned. “Oh! Nelse, I’m so glad!” “Doan you believe I gwine die! I gwine ter git eben wid dem niggers ’fore I leab dis worl’.” Nelse spoke feebly, but there was a way about his saying it that boded no good to his enemies, and Eve was silent. As Nelse improved, Eve’s wrath steadily rose. The next day she met in the street one of the negroes who had threatened Nelse. “How’s Mistah Gaston dis mawnin’ M’am?” he asked. Without a word of warning she sprang on him like a tigress, bore him to the ground, grasped him by the throat and pounded his head against a stone. She would have choked him to death, had not a man who was passing come to the rescue. “Lemme lone, man, I’se doin’ de wuk er God!” “You’re committing murder, woman.” When the negro got up he jumped the fence and tore down through a corn field, as though pursued by a hundred devils, now and then glancing over his shoulder to see if Eve were after him.