There was a warning in the enamel blue of the sky,
in the stretch of yellow road, in the very atmosphere.
Above the tops of the corn loomed the distant foliage
of Smith’s woods, curtaining the silent action
of a tragedy whose horrors they imagined.
The women and the little boys came to a halt, overwhelmed
by the impressiveness of the landscape. They
waited silently.
Mrs. Goodwin suddenly said: “I’m
goin’ back.” The others, who all
wished to return, cried at once disdainfully:
“Well, go back, if yeh want to!”
A cricket at the roadside exploded suddenly in his
shrill song, and a woman, who had been standing near,
shrieked in startled terror. An electric movement
went through the group of women. They jumped and
gave vent to sudden screams. With the fears still
upon their agitated faces, they turned to berate the
one who had shrieked. “My! what a goose
you are, Sallie! Why, it took my breath away.
Goodness sakes, don’t holler like that again!”
“Hol’ on a minnet!” Peter Witheby
was crying to the major, as the latter, full of the
importance and dignity of his position as protector
of Migglesville, paced forward swiftly. The veteran
already felt upon his brow a wreath formed of the
flowers of gratitude, and as he strode he was absorbed
in planning a calm and self-contained manner of wearing
it. “Hol’ on a minnet!” piped
old Peter in the rear.
At last the major, aroused from his dream of triumph,
turned about wrathfully. “Well, what?”
“Now, look a’ here,” said Peter.
“What ‘che goin’ t’ do?”
The major, with a gesture of supreme exasperation,
wheeled again and went on. When he arrived at
the cornfield he halted and waited for Peter.
He had suddenly felt that indefinable menace in the
landscape.
“Well?” demanded Peter, panting.
The major’s eyes wavered a trifle. “Well,”
he repeated—“well, I’m goin’
in there an’ bring out that there rebel.”
They both paused and studied the gently swaying masses
of corn, and behind them the looming woods, sinister
with possible secrets.
“Well,” said old Peter.
The major moved uneasily and put his hand to his brow.
Peter waited in obvious expectation.
The major crossed through the grass at the roadside
and climbed the fence. He put both legs over
the topmost rail and then sat perched there, facing
the woods. Once he turned his head and asked,
“What?”
“I hain’t said anythin’,”
answered Peter.
The major clambered down from the fence and went slowly
into the corn, his gun held in readiness. Peter
stood in the road.
Presently the major returned and said, in a cautious
whisper: “If yeh hear anythin’, you
come a-runnin’, will yeh?”
“Well, I hain’t got no gun nor nuthin’,”
said Peter, in the same low tone; “what good
’ud I do?”
