“Nigger’s clean now, massa.”

“Bring me a razor, then,” said Moore, “and leave me alone with him.”

* * * * *

When Moore had retired, with the razor, into the chamber where his purchase lay, I had time to reflect on the singularity of the situation.  In every room loaded rifles were ready; all the windows were cunningly barricaded, and had sufficient loopholes.  The peaceful planter’s house had become a castle; a dreadful quiet had succeeded to the hubbub of preparation, and my host, yesterday so pleasant, was now locked up alone with a dumb negro and a razor!  I had long ago given up the hypothesis that Gumbo had been purchased out of pure philanthropy.  The disappointment of baffled cruelty in Moore’s brother would not alone account for the necessity of such defensive preparations as had just been made.  Clearly Gumbo was not a mere fancy article, but a negro of real value, whose person it was desirable to obtain possession of at any risk or cost.  The ghastly idea occurred to me (suggested, I fancy, by Moore’s demand for a razor) that Gumbo, at some period of his career, must have swallowed a priceless diamond.  This gem must still be concealed about his person, and Moore must have determined by foul means, as no fair means were available, to become its owner.  When this fancy struck me I began to feel that it was my duty to interfere.  I could not sit by within call (had poor Gumbo been capable of calling) and allow my friend to commit such a deed of cruelty.  As I thus parleyed with myself, the heavy iron door of the store-room opened, and Moore came out, with the razor (bloodless, thank Heaven!) in his hand.  Anxiety had given place to a more joyous excitement.

“Well?” I said interrogatively.

“Well, all’s well.  That man has, as I felt sure, the Secret of the Pyramid.”

I now became quite certain that Moore, in spite of all his apparent method, had gone out of his mind.  It seemed best to humour him, especially as so many loaded rifles were lying about.

   “He has seen the myst’ry hid
   Under Egypt’s pyramid,”

I quoted; “but, my dear fellow, as the negro is dumb, I don’t see how you are to get the secret out of him.”

“I did not say he knew it,” answered Moore crossly; “I said he had it.  As to Egypt, I don’t know what you are talking about—­”

At this moment we heard the crack of rifles, and in the instant of silence which followed came the note of the “Bob White.”

Once it shrilled, and we listened eagerly; then the notes came twice rapidly, and a sound of voices rose up from the negro outposts, who had been driven in and were making fast the one door of the house that had been left open.  From the negroes we learned that our assailants (Bill Hicock’s band of border ruffians, “specially engaged for this occasion”) had picketed their horses behind the dip of the hill and were advancing on foot.  Moore hurried to the roof to reconnoitre.  The dawn was stealing on, and the smoke from the still smouldering trees, which we had felled and burned, rose through the twilight air.