belt and an elaborate shoulder holster, hung a
big army revolver, while on the greasy lapel of his coat was pinned his
military medal for exceptional bravery on the field of battle.

"Been lookin' fuh you fuh some time, Peter," he stated grimly.

Peter considered the formidable figure with a queer sensation. He tried
to take Tump's appearance casually; he tried to maintain an air of
ordinariness.

"Didn't know you were back."

"Yeah, I's back."

"Have you--been looking for me?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you know where I was staying?"

"Co'se I did; up 'mong de white folks. You know dey don' 'low no
shootin' an' killin' 'mong de white folks." He drew his pistol from the
holster with the address of an expert marksman.

[Illustration: "Naw yuh don't," he warned sharply. "You turn roun' an'
march on to niggertown"]

Peter stood, with a quickening pulse, studying his assailant. The glade,
the air, the sunshine, seemed suddenly drawn to a tension, likely to,
break into violent commotion. His abrupt danger brought Peter to a
feeling of lightness and power. A quiver went along his spine. His
nostrils widened unconsciously as he calculated a leap and a blow at
Tump's gun.

The soldier took a step backward, at the same time bringing the barrel
to a ready.

"Naw you don't," he warned sharply. "You turn roun' an' march on to
Niggertown."

"What for?" Peter still tried to be casual, but his voice held new
overtones.

"Because, nigger, I means to drap you right on de Main Street o'
Niggertown, 'fo' all dem niggers whut's been a-raggin' me 'bout you an'
Cissie. I's gwine show dem fool niggers I don' take no fumi-diddles
off'n nobody."

"Tump," gasped Jim Pink, in a husky voice, "you oughtn't shoot Peter; he
mammy jes daid."

"'En she won' worry none. Turn roun', Peter, an' when I says, 'March,'
you march." He leveled his pistol. "'Tention! Rat about face! March!"

Peter turned and moved off down the noiseless path, walking with the
stiff gait of a man who expects a terrific blow from behind at any
instant.

The mulatto walked twenty or more paces amid a confusion of self-
protective impulses. He thought of whirling on Tump even at this late
date. He thought of darting behind a cedar, but he knew the man behind
him was an expert shot, and something fundamental in the brown man
forbade his getting himself killed while running away. It was too
undignified a death.

Presently he surprised himself by calling over his sh