hat excited, he replied
quickly: "You mustn't trifle with us, sir. We know you. You're from the
North. We've seen it on your valise, and we can't allow a man who
carries the New York _Independent_ to travel in South Carolina."

The scoundrels had either broken into my portmanteau, or else a copy of
that paper had dropped from it on to the floor of the wagon when I gave
the book to Scipio. At any rate, they had seen it, and it was evident
"Brother Beecher" was getting me into a scrape. I felt indignant at the
impudence of the fellow, but determined to keep cool, and, a little
sarcastically, replied to the latter part of his remark:

"That's a pity, sir. South Carolina will lose by it."

"This game wont work, sir. We don't want such people as you har, and the
sooner you make tracks the better."

"I intend to leave, sir, as soon as the rain is over, and shall travel
thirty miles on your sandy roads to-day, if you don't coax me to stay
here by your hospitality," I quietly replied.

The last remark was just the one drop needed to make his wrath "bile
over," and he savagely exclaimed: "I tell you, sir, we will not be
trifled with. You must be off to Georgetown at once. You can have just
half an hour to leave the Boro', not a second more."

His tone and manner aroused what little combativeness there is in me.
Rising from my chair, and taking up my outside-coat, in which was one of
Colt's six-shooters, I said to him: "Sir, I am here, a peaceable man, on
peaceable, private business. I have started to go up the country, and go
there I shall; and I shall leave this place at my convenience--not
before. I have endured your impertinence long enough, and shall have no
more of it. If you attempt to interfere with my movements, you will do
so at your peril."

My blood was up, and I was fast losing that better part of valor called
discretion; and _he_ evidently understood my movement, and did not
dislike the turn affairs were taking. There is no telling what might
have followed had not Scip just at that instant inserted his woolly head
between us, excitedly exclaiming: "Lord bless you, Massa B----ll; what
_am_ you 'bout? Why, dis gemman am a 'ticlar friend of Cunnel A----.
He'm a reg'lar sesherner. He hates de ablisherners worser dan de debble.
I hard him swar a clar, blue streak 'bout dem only yesterday."

"Massa B----ll" was evidently taken aback by the announcement of the
negro, but did not seem inclined to "give it up so" at