e negro reached him he
had drawn his pistol half-way from his pocket; but that was all.
Whistling Jim seized the hand and held it, and, using his head as a
battering-ram, jammed it into the man's stomach and into his face. Then
he dragged the limp body toward the fireplace, crying, "Git out de way,
Marse Cally. I'm gwine ter put 'im whar he can't pester nobody else. Ef
I don't he sho will shoot me, kaze I done seed his pistol."

While the negro was thus engaged with the most dangerous of the men, it
is not to be supposed that I was idle. The three companions of the
ruffian started to his aid when Whistling Jim began operations--their
hesitation suddenly turning into indignation when they beheld the
spectacle of a negro assaulting a white man. The foremost went down
under the chair with which I struck him, the second one tripped over
the fallen body and also went down with my assistance. The third man
suddenly found the frame of the well-made chair fitting around his neck
like the yoke of an ox. I did my best to pull his head off in order to
recover my weapon, but his neck was tougher than the joints of white
oak, and the two long legs that went to make up the back of the chair
came off in my hand, thus giving me a bludgeon very much to my taste.

It was at this juncture that the negro came dragging the body of the
ruffian and declaring his intention of giving him a foretaste of
torment. My anger was of such a blind and unreasoning sort that I had
no objections to the horrible proceeding, and if there had been no
sudden diversion I should, in all probability, have aided him in
carrying out his purpose. But there came a tremendous knocking at the
door, and I could hear someone rapping and kicking at the panels trying
to force an entrance. So I laid a restraining hand on the negro and
bade him drop the almost lifeless body.

Giving him one of the chair-legs, and bidding him keep an eye on the
three men, who evidently had had enough of the rough things of life, I
went to the door. The key was in a position to reflect the light, and I
had the door open in a moment; but whoever had rapped to get in seemed
to have changed his mind. No one came in and no one made an effort to
enter, but in another moment I heard the voice of Jane Ryder. "Run!
run!" she cried. "Run, if you want to escape! The back yard is full of
Union soldiers!"

But I thought that this was only a ruse on the part of the little lady
to get rid of me, and, i