“Look here, white man,” Uncle Billy shouted, lifting the rusty ax high in the air, “you stay whar you is.  Ef you come up dem steps I’ll split yo’ ugly haid!  I know you, Jim Dudley,” he cried.  “Mars’ Cary done give you one horse whippin’, an’ ef you hang aroun’ here you’ll get anudder one!”

Furious at the recollection of his shame of a few years back when he had been overseer on this same plantation, the Sergeant rushed up the steps and knocked the ax aside with his gun barrel.  “Yes, he did whip me, burn him, and now I’ll do the same for you.”  Seizing Uncle Billy by the throat he pushed him against the house.

Instantly the door swung open.  Mrs. Cary, her head held high, her beautiful dark eyes blazing with wrath, stood on the threshold.

“Stop it!” she commanded in tones that brooked no disobedience even from a drunkard.  “Let my servant go—­instantly!”

Astounded at this sudden apparition the man shrank back for a moment, but almost as quickly regained his bluster.

“Ah-hah, the beautiful Mrs. Cary, eh!  I’m glad to see you looking so well—­and handsome.”

The words might as well have been spoken to the wind for all the notice that the woman paid them.  With only a gesture of mingled contempt and loathing she stepped to the railing and called to the grinning troopers below.  “Who is in command here?”

To her horror only Dudley answered.

“I am,” he said, triumphantly.  He thrust a menacing face close to hers and ordered her curtly.  “And I’d just as soon have you get me a drink as the nigger.  Come on, fine lady.”

Intent on insulting this woman whose husband had once cut his back with a whip the man caught her by the arm and roughly tried to pull her to him.  But before he could accomplish his purpose retribution fell on him with a heavy hand.

Through a gap in the hedge an officer at the head of a dozen troopers appeared.  One look at the scene on the veranda and Lieutenant-Colonel Morrison, with a smothered cry, dashed up the steps.

“You beastly coward,” and catching the drunkard by the collar he twisted him around and hurled him thudding and bumping down the steps.  “Dudley, I ought to have you shot.”  He swept his arm out and gave voice to a ringing command.  “Report to Lieutenant Harris—­at once—­under arrest! Corporal!  Take his gun.”  He paused a moment as a brother of the man now under arrest stepped forward with a sullen face and obeyed orders.  Running his glance over the line of faces, now suddenly vacant of expression, he whipped them mercilessly with his eye.  “You men, too, will hear from me.  Go to the stable and wait.  Another piece of work like this and I’ll have your coats cut off with a belt buckle!  Clear out!”

Then he turned to the beautiful woman in white who stood only a few feet away, no longer timid but in entire possession of her faculties before what, she knew, might prove a greater danger than a drunkard.