rang across. Several fragments of loose stone
formed a kind of breast-work, which sheltered their position from the
observation of those below.

"Well, here we all are," said Phineas, peeping over the stone
breast-work to watch the assailants, who were coming tumultuously up
under the rocks. "Let 'em get us, if they can. Whoever comes here has to
walk single file between those two rocks, in fair range of your pistols,
boys, d'ye see?"

"I do see," said George! "and now, as this matter is ours, let us take
all the risk, and do all the fighting."

"Thee's quite welcome to do the fighting, George," said Phineas, chewing
some checkerberry-leaves as he spoke; "but I may have the fun of looking
on, I suppose. But see, these fellows are kinder debating down there,
and looking up, like hens when they are going to fly up on to the roost.
Hadn't thee better give 'em a word of advice, before they come up, just
to tell 'em handsomely they'll be shot if they do?"

The party beneath, now more apparent in the light of the dawn, consisted
of our old acquaintances, Tom Loker and Marks, with two constables,
and a posse consisting of such rowdies at the last tavern as could be
engaged by a little brandy to go and help the fun of trapping a set of
niggers.

"Well, Tom, yer coons are farly treed," said one.

"Yes, I see 'em go up right here," said Tom; "and here's a path. I'm for
going right up. They can't jump down in a hurry, and it won't take long
to ferret 'em out."

"But, Tom, they might fire at us from behind the rocks," said Marks.
"That would be ugly, you know."

"Ugh!" said Tom, with a sneer. "Always for saving your skin, Marks! No
danger! niggers are too plaguy scared!"

"I don't know why I _shouldn't_ save my skin," said Marks. "It's the
best I've got; and niggers _do_ fight like the devil, sometimes."

At this moment, George appeared on the top of a rock above them, and,
speaking in a calm, clear voice, said,

"Gentlemen, who are you, down there, and what do you want?"

"We want a party of runaway niggers," said Tom Loker. "One George
Harris, and Eliza Harris, and their son, and Jim Selden, and an old
woman. We've got the officers, here, and a warrant to take 'em; and
we're going to have 'em, too. D'ye hear? An't you George Harris, that
belongs to Mr. Harris, of Shelby county, Kentucky?"

"I am George Harris. A Mr. Harris, of Kentucky, did call me his
property. But now I'm a free man, standing on God's free soil;