Straining their eyes after him, as if they would somehow pierce the dark woods which hid his flight, mother and daughter stood as if turned to stone.  Only Virgie, after a moment, waved her hand and sent her soft, childish prayer winging after him to save him from all harm.  “Good-by, Daddy-man, good-by!”

Sally Ann, however, having seen the approaching danger with her own eyes, began to wring her hands and cry hysterically.  “Aw, Miss Hallie, I so skeered!  I so skeered!”

“Sally,” cried Mrs. Cary, as the sound of hoofbeats thudding through the woods came unmistakably to her ears, “take Virgie with you instantly and run down through the grove to the old ice house.  Hide there under the pine tags.  Understand?”

But the negro girl, ashen with terror, seemed incapable of flight.

“I skeered to go, Miss Hallie,” she whimpered.  “I wan’ stay here wid you!  Ou-ou!”

“But you can’t, I tell you,” her mistress answered, as the certainty of the girl’s helplessness before a questioner flashed through her mind.  “You’d tell everything.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Virgie urged, pulling at Sally Arm’s sleeve. “I’ll take care of you.”  Then her eye fell on Susan Jemima lying neglected on the bench and she gave a faint scream at her heartlessness.  “Goodness gracious, Mother,” she cried, as, still holding on to Sally Ann, she ran and caught up her beloved doll.  “I nearly forgot my child!”

With the clank of sabers and the sound of gruff commands already in her ears, Mrs. Cary turned peremptorily to Uncle Billy.

“Remember, William!  If the Yankees ask for my husband you haven’t seen him!”

“Nor’m, dat’s right,” was the prompt answer.  “I dunno you eben got one.  But you go in de house, Miss Hallie.  Dat’s de bes’ way,—­yas’m.”

“Perhaps it is best,” his mistress answered.  “The longer we can detain them the better for Captain Cary.  You’d better come in yourself.”

“Yas’m,” replied the faithful old man, although such action was farthest from his thoughts.  “In des’ a minnit.  I’ll be dar in des’ a minnit.”

But once his mistress had closed the door behind her Uncle Billy’s plan of operations changed.  Hurrying down the steps he plunged his arm under the porch and drew forth—­a rusty ax.  With his weapon over his shoulder he hastened up on the veranda and stood with his back against the door.

CHAPTER III

The thudding feet came nearer.  A bugle call—­a rattling of accouterments and then, from the other side of the hedge, came a half dozen troopers in blue, led by a Sergeant with a red face and bloodshot eyes.

“This way, boys!” the Sergeant shouted, and at the sound of a harsh, never-forgotten voice Uncle Billy’s grasp on his ax grew tighter. “I know the place—­I’ve been here before. We’ll get the liquor and silver while the Colonel is stealing the horses, eh?” Then his eyes fell on Uncle Billy and he greeted him with a yell of recognition.  “Hello, you black old ape!  Come down and show us where you buried the silver and the whisky.  Oh, you won’t?  Then I’ll come up and get you,” and he lurched forward.