d his lips to answer them, when old Nancy sprang at him
and set her hand over his open mouth.

"You hush--and keep hushed!" she whispered urgently.

"I just wanted to call to the boys and tell them I'm here," Creed
whispered to her. "Aunt Nancy, I'm bound to go out there and talk to them
fellows. I cain't stay in here and let you and the children suffer for
it."

"Aw, big-mouthed, big-talkin' brood--what do I keer for them?" demanded
Nancy, tossing her head with a characteristic motion to get the grey
curls away from her fearless blue eyes; whereupon the tucking comb
slipped down and had to be replaced, "You ain't a-goin' out thar," she
whispered vehemently from under her raised arm, as she redded back the
straying locks with it. Nancy had the reckless, dare-devil courage those
blue eyes bespoke. Presuming a bit, perhaps, on her age and sex, she yet
ran risks that many men would have shunned without deeming themselves
cowards. "You ain't a-goin' out thar, I tell ye," she reiterated. "I
wouldn't let ye ef they burnt the house down over our heads. Pony'll be
along pretty shortly from Hepzibah, and when he sees 'em I reckon he's
got sense enough to git behind a bush and fire at 'em--that'll scatter
'em."

As if inspired to destroy this one slender hope, the voice outside spoke
again, tauntingly.

"Nancy Cyard, we've got yo' son Pony here--picked him up on the road--an'
ef yo'r a mind to trade Creed Bonbright for him, we'll trade even. Better
dicker with us. Somepin' bad might happen this young 'un."

At the words, Creed wheeled and made for the door, Nancy gripping him
frantically but mutely.

"Creed--boy--honey!"--she breathed at last, "they's mo' than one kind o'
courage. This is jest fool courage--to go an' git yo'se'f killed up. Them
Turrentines won't hurt Pone. But you--oh, my Lord!"

"I reckon ye better let him go, maw," Doss Provine chattered from the
bed's edge where he still crouched. "Hit's best that it should be one,
ruther than all of us."

Old Nancy flung him a glance of wordless contempt. Beezy ran and tangled
herself in the tall young fellow's legs, halting him.

"Creed," the old woman urged, still below her breath, holding to his arm.
"Creed, honey, as soon as you open that do' and stand in the light, yo'r
no better than a dead man. Listen!"

All caution had been thrown aside by the besiegers. Hoarse voices
questioned and answered outside, sounds of stumbling footsteps surrounded
the house.