the undergrowth. Teague Poteet and his friends
were soon ready to follow this worthy example, so that in another hour
Prather's Mill Road was a very dull and uninteresting place from a
revenue point of view.

Woodward was aroused during the night by the loud barking of dogs, the
tramp of horses, and the confused murmur of suppressed conversation.
Looking from the window, he judged by the position of the stars that it
was three or four o'clock in the morning. He sat upon the side of the
bed, and sought, by listening intently, to penetrate the mystery of
this untimely commotion. He thought he recognised the voice of Tip
Watson, and he was sure he heard Sid Parmalee's peculiar cough and
chuckle. The conversation soon lifted itself out of the apparent
confusion, and became comparatively distinct. The voices were those of
Teague and Sis.

"Come now, pap, you must promise."

"Why, Sis, how _kin_ I?"

"You shall, you shall, you _shall!_"

"Why, Sis, hon, he mought be a spy. Sid Pannalee he 'lows that the
whole dad-blamed business is a put-up job. He wants to bet right now
that we'll all be in jail in Atlanty 'fore the moon changes. I lay they
don't none of 'em fool Sid."

"You don't love me any more," said Sis, taking a new tack.

"Good Lord, Sis! Why, honey, what put that idee in your head?"

"I know you don't--I know it! Its always Dave Hightower this, and Sid
Par-malee that, and old drunken Jake Norris the other. I just _know_
you don't love me."

Teague also took a new tack, but there was a quiver in his voice born
of deadly earnestness.

"I tell you, Sis, they er houndin' airter us; they er runnin' us down;
they er closin' in on us; they er hemmin' us up. Airter they git your
pore ole pappy an' slam 'im in jail, an' chain 'im down, who's
a-gwineter promise to take keer er _him?_ Hain't ole man Joshway
Blasingame bin sent away off to Al_benny?_ Hain't ole man Cajy Shannon
a-sarvin' out his time, humpback an' cripple ez he is? Who took keer
_them_? Who ast anybody to let up on 'em? But don't you fret, honey; ef
they hain't no trap sot, nobody ain't a-gwineter pester _him_."

"I wouldn't trust that Sid Parmalee out of my sight!" exclaimed Sis,
beginning to cry. "I know him, and I know all of you."

"But ef they is a trap sot," continued Teague, ignoring Sis's tears,
"_ef_ they is, I tell you, honey, a thousau' folks like me can't hol'
the boys down. The time 'a done come when they er teetotally wore out
wi