ltless and blame the other feller. I ain't no Free Will Baptist.
I believe things 've bin foreordained. Wisht I knowed that it was
foreordained that I was to git that grub back to Si and Shorty."

Presently he saw the old man come out and take a path into the woods. He
cautiously circled around to where he could follow and watch him. He saw
him make his way to a secluded little cove, where there was a corn-crib
partially filled and a rude shelter, under which were a buckboard and
fairly-good young horse. The old man began putting the clumsy harness of
ropes, chains and patched leather on the horse and hitching him to the
buckboard.

"Good, the old man's goin' to take the grub out to 'em himself," thought
the Deacon with relief. "He'll be easy to manage. No need o' shootin'
him."

He hurried back to his covert, and then shpped unseen down to where he
had selected for his ambush. The old man drove the buckboard around to
the front of the house, and the negresses, obeying the shrill orders of
the old woman, brought out pones of smoking cornbread, and buckets, tin
pans and crocks containing the meat, potatoes, turnips and other food,
and loaded them on to the buckboard. The fragrance of the food reached
the Deacon's nostrils, and made his mouth water and fond anticipations
rise as to the good it would do the boys.

"I'll have that grub, and the boys shall have it," he determined, "or
there'll be an Injianny Deacon pretty badly used up."

The old man mounted into the seat, gathered up the rope lines, and
chirruped to the horse to start.

When he came opposite, the Deacon jumped out, seized the reins, and
pointing his revolver at him, commanded sternly:

"Git down from there, and git down quick."

The old man dropped the lines, and for an instant gazed at him with
scared eyes.

"Why, yo' robber, what d'yo' mean?" he gasped.

"Git down from there, and git down quick!" repeated the Deacon.

"Why, this is highway robbery, threats, puttin' in bodily fear,
attempted murder, hoss-stealin'."

"Hain't no time to argy law with you," said the Deacon impatiently.
"This ain't no court-room. You ain't in session now. Git down, and git
down quick!"

"Help! help! murder! robbery! thieves!" shouted the old man, at the top
of his voice.

The negresses, who had been watching their master depart, set to
screaming, and the old woman rushed back into the house and blew the
horn. The Deacon thrust his revolver back into the holst