am and went up the ladder
to the roof of the woodshed like a chased weasel. The dog stood barkin'
as if he had treed a bear. Traylor grabbed the ladder and pulled it down.

"'You stay there till I get away an' you'll be safe,' said he.

"The man looked down and swore and shook his fist and threatened us with
the law.

"Mr. Nuckles rode close to the woodshed and looked up at him.

"'My brother, I fear you be not a Christian,' he said.

"He swore at the minister. That settled him.

"'What's all this erbout?' Mr. Nuckles asked me.

"'He and his friend are from Missouri,' I says. 'They're lookin' for some
runaway slaves an' they come here and pitched into us, and one got
throwed ag'in' the barn an' the other clum to the roof.'

"'I reckon he better stay thar till he gits a little o' God's grace in
his soul,' says the minister.

"Then he says to the dog: 'Ponto, you keep 'im right thar.'

"The dog appeared to understand what was expected of him.

"The minister got off his hoss and hitched him and took off his coat and
put it on the ground.

"'What you goin' to do?' I says.

"'Me?' says the minister. 'I be goin' to rassle with Satan for the soul
o' that 'ar man, an' if you keep watch I reckon you'll see 'at the
ground'll be scratched up some 'fore I git through.'

"He loosened his collar an' knelt on his coat and began to pray that the
man's soul would see its wickedness and repent. You could have heard him
half a mile away.

"Mr. Traylor drove off with the damaged slaver settin' beside him and the
saddle hoss hitched to the rear axle. I see my chance an' before that
prayer ended I had got the fugitives under some hay in my wagon and
started off with them on my way to Livingston County. I could hear the
prayin' until I got over the hill into Canaan barrens. At sundown I left
them in good hands thirty miles up the road."

* * * * *

In a frontier newspaper of that time it is recorded that the minister and
his dog kept the slaver on the roof all day, vainly trying with prayer
and exhortation to convert his soul. The man stopped swearing before
dinner and on his promise not again to violate the commandment a good
meal was handed up to him. He was liberated at sundown and spent the
night with Brimstead.

"Who is that big sucker who grabbed my friend?" the stranger asked
Brimstead.

"His name is Samson Traylor. Comes from Vermont," was the answer.

"He's the dog-gonedest stea