Demon, Demon, let the team be. Come in the house and hide. Oh, Bedford, and Gretel’s still at Spanglers’ or I don’t know where! They took the colt, father … no, the Huddlestone boy and— Demon, come inside—

The old man shuffled out of the dim amphitheatre of the barn and stood in the wide doorway, blinking up at the window with his one eye. “Cayn’t send me back to Mayland,” he said. “Mist Fanning, ’em rebel cayn’t fotch me back to Mayland. I got Freedom Papeh in my bosom. Old Mist Capple he give me Freedom Papeh long time ago, so ’em damn rebel cayn’t make me slabery no mo’.”

Mrs. Fanning squealed. A small man on a wiry black horse leaped the pasture fence and came cantering up toward the yard. He swung carefully past the garden patch, his horse’s feet making clean, dark U’s along the slaty cabbage rows. Behind him, three more men on foot were scrambling over the fence. The mounted soldier wore a citizen’s coat of loose brown weave; he had a revolver buckled around his waist, and a huge grain-sack tied behind his saddle.

He took off his felt hat, and smiled. His teeth were small and even and yellow. There was a wispy fuzz of tawny beard on his chin; perhaps he was eighteen years old. “Quattahmastah’s odduz!” he announced. “Have yawl got any speh hosses, ma’am?” The three men came hurrying across the garden, stumbling heedlessly through beans and beets. One of them reached down and jerked up a carrot; he wiped it against his gray shirt and bit out a large, orange bite, and all as he ran … They carried rifles slung over their shoulders, the butts chafing against their thighs.

Mr. Fanning grasped the window ledge with both hands. He said, shrilly, “I have no horses to spare, sir.” Down in the cellar, Cybo was barking without a pause for breath.

The youth bowed politely; he looked toward Irene, and suddenly there was a silver spice in his narrow blue eyes. “Lacy,” he ordered, without turning his head, “look in the bahn.”

Demon was waving something wadded and dirty in his hand. “Freedom Papeh! Cayn’t fotch me back to Mayland, Mist Rebel—”

“Shut yo’ mouth, nig,” said one of the infantrymen. They pushed the old man out of the way and vanished into the stamping, scented blackness … Bright whickered with annoyance. The men came out, leading both horses. “Two mo’ old nags out in the field, Capting,” said one soldier. He ran a hand approvingly over Becky’s muzzle. The mare blew and jerked up her head. “Sho,” murmured the soldier.