Her fingers felt numb on the splintery wood of the ladder. She nearly slipped. Her legs almost doubled up under her when she leaned over the banister, peering down into the hall below. She couldn’t see the gun, but she could still hear Hughes’s angry voice out back. Shadows seemed to clutch at her skirts, the stairs cracked and creaked as she crept down, while the thick, heavy smell that lurked in the hall nearly sickened her. Her cold, shaking fingers clutched the barrel of the gun standing upright in the corner, and she somehow managed to get up the stairs before the door at the back of the hall opened. She crouched against the wall, listening, not daring now to climb her ladder. She heard Hughes clumping about below, his heavy boots kicking objects aside. She heard him curse, at first softly, then with a roar. A few feet away a door stood partly open. Holding the gun close, she tiptoed along the wall and into one of the rooms. Meanwhile, Frederick knew that Hughes had gone for a gun, but that was not as important as Covey’s cautious approach to the thick, knotty stick of wood. _He’ll knock me down with it_, Frederick thought. He breathed evenly, knowing exactly what he was going to do. The moment Covey leaned over to grab the stick, the boy leaped forward, seized his shirt collar with both hands and brought the man down, stretched out full length in the cow dung. Covey grabbed the boy’s arms and yelled lustily. Feet, suddenly no longer tired, were hastening toward the back yard. The news was spreading. Bill, another of Covey’s “trainees,” came around the house. He stared--open-mouthed. “Grab him! Bill! Grab him!” Covey shouted. Bill’s feet were rooted to the ground, his face a dumb mask. “Whatchu say, Massa Covey, whatchu say?” “Get hold of him! Grab him!” Bill’s eyes were round. He swallowed, licking out his tongue. “I gotta get back to mah plowin’, Massa. Look! Hit’s sun-up.” With a limp hand he indicated the sun shooting its beams over the eastern woods and turned vaguely away. “Come back here, you fool! He’s killing me!” A flash of interest flickered across the broad, flat face. Bill took several steps forward. Frederick fixed him with a baleful gaze and spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t you put your hands on me!” Bill sagged. “My God, ye crazy coon, I ain’t a-gonna tech ye!” And he shuffled around the barn. Covey cursed. He could not free himself. The boy was like a slippery octopus, imprisoning him with his arms and legs. Frederick was panting now. His heart sank when he saw Caroline. She must have been milking in the shed, for she carried a brimming pail. Covey could make her help him. She really was a powerful woman, and Frederick knew she could master him easily now, exhausted as he was. Covey, too, saw her and called out confidently. Caroline stopped. She set down the pail of milk. Covey relaxed, an evil grin on his face.