Robert Vaughan Fairfax and the year 1864. On the
other was the simple and perplexing inscription, "Cahoots." Nothing
more.

The place had been the orchard of one of the ante-bellum mansions before
the dead that were brought back from the terrible field of Malvern Hill
and laid there had given it a start as a cemetery. Many familiar names
were chiselled on the granite head-stones, and anyone conversant with
Virginia genealogy would have known them to belong to some of the best
families of the Old Dominion. But "Cahoots,"--who or what was he?

My interest, not to say curiosity, was aroused. There must be a whole
story in those two shafts with their simple inscriptions, a life-drama
or perhaps a tragedy. And who was more likely to know it than the
postmaster of the quaint little old town. Just after the war, as if
tired with its exertions to repel the invader, the old place had fallen
asleep and was still drowsing.

I left the cemetery--if such it could be called--and wended my way up
the main street to the ancient building which did duty as post-office.
The man in charge, a grizzled old fellow with an empty sleeve, sat
behind a small screen. He looked up as I entered and put out his hand
toward the mailboxes, waiting for me to mention my name. But instead I
said: "I am not expecting any mail. I only wanted to ask a few
questions."

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?" he asked with some interest.

"I've just been up there walking through the cemetery," I returned, "and
I am anxious to know the story, if there be one, of two monuments which
I saw there."

"You mean Fairfax and Cahoots."

"Yes."

"You're a stranger about here, of course."

"Yes," I said again, "and so there is a story?"

"There is a story and I'll tell it to you. Come in and sit down." He
opened a wire door into his little cage, and I seated myself on a stool
and gave my attention to him.

"It's just such a story," he began, "as you can hear in any of the
Southern States--wherever there were good masters and faithful slaves.
This particular tale is a part of our county history, and there ain't
one of the old residents but could tell it to you word for word and fact
for fact. In the days before our misunderstanding with the North, the
Fairfaxes were the leading people in this section. By leading, I mean
not only the wealthiest, not only the biggest land-owners, but that
their name counted for more in social circles and political councils
than