Richard Travis had ridden over to Westmoreland that Sunday night, and as he rode back, some two miles away, and within the shadows of a dense clump of oaks which bordered the road, he was stopped by two dusky figures. They stood just on the edge of the forest and came out so suddenly that the spirited saddle mare stopped and attempted to wheel and bolt. But Travis, controlling her with one hand and, suspecting robbers, had drawn his revolver with the other, when one of them said: "Friends, don't shoot." "Give the countersign," said Travis with ill-concealed irritation. "Union League, sir. I am Silos, sir." Travis put his revolver back into his overcoat pocket and quieted his mare. The two men, one a negro and the other a mulatto, came up to his saddle-skirt and stood waiting respectfully. "You should have awaited me at The Gaffs, Silos." "We did, sir," said the mulatto, "but the boys are all out here in the woods, and we wanted to hold them together. We didn't know when you would come home." "Oh, it's all right," said Travis pettishly--"only you came near catching one of my bullets by mistake. I thought you were Jack Bracken and his gang." The mulatto smiled and apologized. He was a bright fellow and the barber of the town. "We wanted to know, sir, if you were willing for us to do the work to-night, sir?" "Why bother me about it--no need for me to know, Silos, but one thing I must insist upon. You may whip them--frighten them, but nothing else, mind you, nothing else." "But you are the commander of the League--we wanted your consent." Travis bent low over the saddle and talked earnestly to the man a while. It was evidently satisfactory to the other, for he soon beckoned his companion and started off into the woods. "Have you representatives from each camp present, Silos?" The mulatto turned and came back. "Yes--but the toughest we could get. I'll not stay myself to see it. I don't like such work, sir--only some one has to do it for the cause--the cause of freedom, sir." "Of course--why of course," said Travis. "Old Bisco and his kind are liable to get all you negroes put back into slavery--if the Democrats succeed again as they have just done. Give them a good scare." "We'll fix him to-night, boss," said the black one, grinning good naturedly. Then he added to himself: "Yes, I'll whip 'em--to death." "I heard a good deal of talk among the boys, to-night, sir," said the mulatto. "They all want you for Congress next time." "Well, we'll talk about that, Silos, later. I must hurry on." He started, then wheeled suddenly: "Oh, say, Silos--" The latter came back. "Do your work quietly to-night--Just a good scare--If you disturb"--he pointed to the roof of Westmoreland in the distance showing above the beech tops. "You know how foolish they are about old Bisco and his wife--"