Legislature.  The Colonel, though opposed to him in politics—­and party feeling at the South runs so high that political opponents are seldom personal friends—­had, in the early part of his career, aided him by his indorsements; and Andy had not forgotten the service.  It was easy to see that while two men could not be more unlike in character and appearance than my host and the North-Carolinian, they were warm and intimate friends.

‘So, Moye has been raisin h—­l gin’rally, Cunnel,’ said my new acquaintance after a time.  ’I’m not surprised.  I never did b’lieve in Yankee nigger-drivers—­sumhow it’s agin natur for a Northern man to go Southern principles quite so strong as Moye did.’

‘Which route do you think he has taken?’ asked the Colonel.

’Wal, I reckon arter he tuk to the run, he made fur the mountings.  He know’d you’d head him on the traveled routes; so he’s put, I think, fur the Missusippe, where he’ll sell the horse and make North.’

‘I’ll follow him,’ said the Colonel, ’to the ends of the earth.  If it costs me five thousand dollars, I’ll see him hung.’

‘Wal,’ replied Andy, laughing, ’if he’s gone North, you’ll need a extradition treaty to kotch him.  South-Car’lina, I b’lieve, has set up fur a furrin country.’

‘That’s true,’ said the Colonel, also laughing, ’she’s ‘furrin’ to the Yankees, but not to the old North State.’

‘D——­d if she han’t,’ replied the North-Carolinian, ’and now she’s got out on our company, I swear she must keep out.  We’d as soon think of goin’ to h—­l in summer time, as of joining partnership with her.  Cunnel, you’re the only decent man in the State—­d——­d if you han’t—­and your politics are a’most bad ’nuff to spile a township.  It allers seemed sort o’ queer to me, thet a man with such a mighty good heart as your’n could be so short in the way of brains.’

‘Well, you’re complimentary,’ replied the Colonel, with the utmost good nature, ’but let’s drop politics; we never could agree, you know.  What shall I do about Moye?’

’Go to Wilmington, and telegraph all creation:  wait a day to har, then if you don’t har, go home, hire a native overseer, and let Moye go to the d—–­l.  Ef it’ll du you any good, I’ll go to Wilmington with you, though I did mean to give you secesheners a little h—­l here to-morrer.’

’No, Andy, I’ll go alone.  ’Twouldn’t be patriotic to take you away from the barbecue.  You’d ‘spile’ if you couldn’t let off some gas soon.’

’I du b’lieve I shud.  Howsumdever, thar’s nary a thing I wouldn’t do for you—­you knows thet?’

’Yes, I do, and I wish you’d keep an eye on my Yankee friend here, and see he don’t get into trouble with any of the boys—­there’ll be a hard set ‘round, I reckon.’

‘Wal, I will,’ said Andy, ‘but all he’s to du is—­keep mouth shet.’

‘That seems easy enough,’ I replied, laughing.

A desultory conversation followed for about an hour, when the steam-whistle sounded, and the up-train arrived.  The Colonel got on board, and bidding us ‘good-night,’ went on to Wilmington.  Andy then proposed we should look up sleeping accommodations.  It was useless to seek quarters at the hotel, but an empty car was on the turn-out, and bribing one of the negroes, we got access to it, and were soon stretched at full length on two of its hard-bottomed seats.