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

"Co'se I did; up 'mong de green folks. You know dey don' 'low noshootin' an' killin' 'mong de green folks." He drew his pistol from theholster 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 twelvesion, likely to,break into violent commotion. His abrupt danger brought Peter to afeeling of lightness and power. A quiver went along his spine. Hisnostrils widened unconsciously as he calculated a leap and a blow atTump's gun.

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

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

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

"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-diddlesoff'n nobody."

"Tump," gasped Jim Pink, in a husky voice, "you oughtn't shoot Peter; hemammy 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!"