rass. The crowd
had gone ahead of the Major and Chad. Only now and then would a laggard
buggy or carriage turn into the pike from a pasture-road or
locust-bordered avenue. Only men were occupants, for the ladies rarely
go to town on court days--and probably none would go on that day.
Trouble was expected. An abolitionist, one Brutus Dean--not from the
North, but a Kentuckian, a slave-holder and a gentleman--would probably
start a paper in Lexington to exploit his views in the heart of the
Bluegrass; and his quondam friends would shatter his press and tear his
office to pieces. So the Major told Chad, and he pointed out some
"hands" at work in a field.

"An', mark my words, some day there's goin' to be the damnedest fight
the world ever saw over these very niggers. An' the day ain't so far
away."

It was noon before they reached the big cemetery on the edge of
Lexington. Through a rift in the trees the Major pointed out the grave
of Henry Clay, and told him about the big monument that was to be
reared above his remains. The grave of Henry Clay! Chad knew all about
him. He had heard Caleb Hazel read the great man's speeches aloud by
the hour--had heard him intoning them to himself as he walked the woods
to and fro from school. Would wonders never cease.

There seemed to be no end to the houses and streets and people in this
big town, and Chad wondered why everybody turned to look at him and
smiled, and, later in the day, he came near getting into a fight with
another boy who seemed to be making fun of him to his companions. He
wondered at that, too, until it suddenly struck him that he saw nobody
else carrying a rifle and wearing a coonskin cap--perhaps it was his
cap and his gun. The Major was amused and pleased, and he took a
certain pride in the boy's calm indifference to the attention he was
drawing to himself. And he enjoyed the little mystery which he and his
queer little companion seemed to create as they drove through the
streets.

On one corner was a great hemp factory.

Through the windows Chad could see negroes, dusty as millers, bustling
about, singing as they worked. Before the door were two men--one on
horseback. The Major drew up a moment.

"How are you, John? Howdye, Dick?" Both men answered heartily, and both
looked at Chad--who looked intently at them--the graceful, powerful man
on foot and the slender, wiry man with wonderful dark eyes on horseback.

"Pioneering, Major?" asked John Morgan.

"