THERE was a gentle bustle at the Quaker house, as the afternoon drew to a close, for the wanderers were to go forth that night. In a little bedroom George and his wife were sitting. Both looked thoughtful and serious.

  "When we get to Canada," said Eliza, "I can help you. I can do dressmaking very well; and I understand fine washing and ironing; and between us we can find something to live on."

  "Yes, Eliza, it will be all right so long as we have each other and our boy. O, Eliza, if these people only knew what a blessing it is to a man to feel that his wife and child belong to him. I have often wondered to see men that could call their wives and children their own, fretting and worrying about anything else. Why, I feel rich and strong, though we have nothing but our bare hands."

  "But we are not yet quite out of danger," said Eliza; "we are not in Canada yet."

  "True," said George, "but it seems as if I smelt the free air, and it makes me strong."

  At this moment voices were heard in the outer apartment, in earnest conversation, and very soon a rap on the door startled them. Eliza opened the door.

  Simeon Halliday was there, and with him Phineas Fletcher. Phineas was a tall and red-haired man, with an expression of great acuteness and shrewdness in his face.

  "Our friend Phineas hath discovered something of importance to the interests of thee and thy party, George," said Simeon. "It were well for thee to hear it."

  "That I have," said Phineas. "Last night I stopped at a little, lone tavern, back on the road, and after supper, I stretched myself down on a pile of bags in the corner, and pulled a buffalo over me, to wait till my bed was ready; and what does I do, but get fast asleep. I slept for an hour or two, but when I came to myself a little, I found that there were some men in the room, sitting round a table, drinking and talking; and I thought I'd just see what they were up to.

  "'So,' says one, 'they are up in the Quaker settlement, no doubt,' says he. Then I listened with both ears, and I found that they were talking in

  "What shall we do, George?" asked Eliza, faintly.

  "I know what I shall do," said George, as he began examining his pistols. "I don't want to involve any one else with or for me. If you will lend me your wagon and direct me, I will drive alone to the next stand. Jim is a giant in strength, and brave as death and despair, and so am I."

  "Ah, well, friend," said Phineas, "but thee'll need a driver, for all that."

  "Phineas is a wise and skilful man, George," said Simeon. "Thee would do well to abide by his judgment; and," he added, laying his hand kindly on George's shoulder, and pointing to the pistols, "be not over hasty with these—young blood is hot."

  "I will attack no man," said George. "All I ask of this country is to be let alone, and I will go out peaceably; but,"—he paused, and his brow darkened and his face worked—"I am not going to stand and see them take my wife and child, and sell them, when God has given me a pair of strong arms to defend them. God help me! I'll fight to the last breath, before they shall take my wife and son. Can you blame me?"

  "Mortal man can not blame thee, George. Flesh and blood could do no otherwise," replied Simeon.

  "Isn't it best that we hasten our flight?" said George.

  "It isn't safe to start till dark, at any rate; but in two hours I think we may venture. I will go over to Michael Cross, and engage him to come behind on his swift nag, and keep a bright lookout on the road, and warn us if any company of men come on. I am going now to warn Jim and the old woman to be in readiness, and to see about the horse. We have a pretty fair start, and stand a good chance to get to the stand before they can come up with us. So have good courage, friend George," said Phineas, as he closed the door.

  "Phineas is pretty shrewd," said Simeon. "He will do the best that can be done for thee, George. And now, mother," said he turning to Rachel, "hurry thy preparations for these friends, for we must not send them away hungry."

  While Rachel and her children were busy making corncake, and cooking ham and chicken, and hurrying on the evening meal, George and his wife sat in their little room, with their arms folded about each other in such talk as husband and wife have when they know that a few hours may part them forever.

  A little while after supper, a covered wagon drew up before the door. Eliza was handed into the carriage by Simeon, and creeping into the back part with her boy, sat down amid the buffalo skins. The old woman was

  "Farewell, my friends," said Simeon from without.

  "God bless you!" answered all from within, and the wagon drove off, rattling and jolting over the frozen road.

  About three o'clock George's ear caught the hasty and decided click of a horse's hoof coming behind them at some distance. Phineas pulled up his horse, and listened.

  "That must be Michael," he said; "I think I know the sound of his gallop;" and here he rose up and stretched his head anxiously back over the road. A man riding in hot haste was now dimly descried at the top of a distant hill.

  "There he is, I do believe," said Phineas. George and Jim both sprang out of the wagon before they knew what they were doing. On he came. Now he went down into a valley, where they could not see him; but they heard the sharp, hasty tramp, rising nearer and nearer: at last they saw him emerge on the top of an eminence, within hail.

  "Halloa, there, Michael," said Phineas, when the messenger came within hail. "Any news—they coming?"

  "Right on behind, eight or ten of them, hot with brandy, swearing and foaming, like so many wolves."

  "In with you boys—quick, in!" said Phineas, "if you must fight, wait till I get you a piece ahead." And with the word, both jumped in, and Phineas lashed the horses to a run, the horseman keeping close beside them. The pursuers gained on them fast; the wagon made a sudden turn, and brought them near a ledge of a steep overhanging rock, that rose in an isolated ridge or clump in a large lot, which seemed to promise shelter. It was to gain this point that Phineas had been racing his horses. In a twinkling they were all out of the wagon.

  "Come ahead," said Phineas, as they reached the rocks, and saw the traces of a rude, but plainly marked footpath leading up among them; "this is one of our old hunting dens. Come up!"

  Phineas went before them, springing up the rocks like a goat, with the boy in his arms. Jim came second, bearing his trembling old mother over his shoulder, and George and Eliza brought up the rear. The party of horsemen were dismounting to follow them. A few moments scrambling brought them to the top of the ledge; the path then passed between a narrow defile, where only one could walk at a time, till suddenly they came to a rift or chasm more than a yard in breadth, and beyond which lay a pile of rocks, separate from the rest of the ledge, standing full thirty feet high, with its sides steep and perpendicular. Phineas easily leaped the chasm, and set the boy down on the white moss that covered the top of the rock.

  "Over with you!" he called. "Spring, now, once, for your lives!" cried he, as one after another sprang across. Several fragments of loose stone formed a kind of breastwork, which sheltered their position from observation.

  "Well, here we are," said Phineas. "Let 'em get us, if they can. Whoever comes here has to walk single file between those two rocks, in fair range of your pistols, boys, d'ye see?"

  "I do see," said George; "and now, as this matter is ours, let us take all the risk, and do all the fighting."

  "Thee's quite welcome to do the fighting, George," said Phineas, "but I may have the fun of looking on, I suppose. But see, these fellows are kinder debating down there. Hadn't thee better give them a word of advice, before they come up, just to tell 'em handsomely they'll be shot if they do?"

  The party beneath consisted of our two old acquaintances, Tom Loker and Marks, with two constables and a posse consisting of such rowdies at the last tavern as could be engaged by a little brandy to help in the fun of trapping a set of niggers.

  George appeared on the top of a rock and, speaking in a calm, clear voice, said:

  "Gentlemen, who are you down there, and what do you want?"

  "We want a party of niggers that have run away," said Tom Loker. "One George Harris, and Eliza Harris, and their son, and Jim Selden, and an old woman. We've got the officers here, and a warrant to take 'em; and we're going to have 'em, too. D'ye hear? Ain't you George Harris, that belongs to Mr. Harris, of Shelby County, Kentucky?"

  "I am George Harris. A Mr. Harris of Kentucky did call me his property once. But now I'm a free man, standing on God's free soil; and my wife and my child I claim as mine. Jim and his mother are here. We have arms to defend ourselves, and we mean to do it. You can come up, if you like; but the first one of you that comes within the range of our bullets is a dead man, and the next and the next, and so on till the last."

  "O, come, come!" said a short, puffy man, stepping forward, and blowing his nose as he did so. "Young man, this ain't no kind of talk at all for you. You see, we are officers of justice. We've got the law on our side, so you'd better give up peaceable, you see."

  "I know very well that you've got the law on your side, and the power," said George, bitterly. "You mean to take my wife to sell in New Orleans, and put my boy like a calf in a trader's pen, and send Jim's old mother to the brute that whipped and abused her before, because he couldn't abuse her son. You want to send Jim and me back to be whipped and tortured, and ground down under the heels of them that you call masters; and your laws will bear you out in it, more shame for you and them! But you have

  not got us yet. We stand here as free, under God's sky, as you are; and by the great God that made us, we'll fight for our liberty till we die."

  The attitude, eye, voice, and manner of the speaker, for a moment struck the party below to silence. Marks was the only one who remained wholly untouched. He was deliberately cocking his pistol, and, in the momentary silence that followed George's speech, he fired at him.

  "Ye see ye get jist as much for him dead as alive in Kentucky," he said coolly, as he wiped his pistol on his coat sleeve.

  George sprang backward—Eliza uttered a shriek—the ball passed close to his hair, and struck in the tree above.

  "It is nothing, Eliza," said George, quickly. "Now, Jim, look that your pistols are all right, and watch that pass with me. The first man that shows himself I fire at; you take the second, and so on."

  The party below, after Marks had fired, stood, for a moment, rather as if they were undecided what to do.

  "I'm going right up for one," said Tom. "I never was afraid of niggers, and I ain't going to be now."

  One of the most courageous of the party followed Tom, and, the way being thus made, the whole party began pushing up the rock. On they came, and in a moment the burly form of Tom Loker appeared in sight almost at the verge of the chasm. George fired—the shot entered his side—but, though wounded, he would not retreat, but with a yell like that of a mad bull, he was leaping right across the chasm into the party.

  "Friend," said Phineas, suddenly stepping to the front, and meeting him with a push from his long arms, "thee isn't wanted here."

  Down he fell into the chasm, crackling down among trees, bushes, logs, and loose stones, till he lay, bruised and groaning, thirty feet below.

  "Lord help us, they are perfect devils!" said Marks, heading the retreat down the rocks with much more of a will than he had joined in the ascent.

  "I say, fellers," said Marks, "you jist go round and pick up Tom, there, while I run and get on to my horse, to go back for help—that's you;" and without minding the hootings and jeers of his company, Marks was soon galloping away.

  "Was there ever such a sneaking varmint?" said one of the men; "to come on his business, and he clear out and leave us in this yer way!"

  "Well, we must pick up that feller," said another.

  The men, led by Tom's groans, scrambled to where that hero lay groaning and swearing.

  "Ye keep it going pretty loud, Tom," said one. "Ye much hurt?"

  "Don't know. Get me up, can't ye?"

  With much labor and groaning, the fallen hero was assisted to rise; and,

  George looked over the rocks, and saw them trying to lift Tom into the saddle. After two or three ineffectual attempts, he reeled, and fell heavily to the ground.

  "On my word, they're leaving him, I do believe," said Phineas.

  It was true; for after some consultation, the whole party rode away. When they were quite out of sight, Phineas began to bestir himself.

  "We must go down and walk apiece," he said. "I told Michael to go forward and bring help, and be along back here with the wagon; but we shall have to walk a piece along the road, I reckon, to meet them."

  As the party neared the fence, they discovered in the distance, along the road, their own wagon coming back, accompanied by some men on horseback.

  "Well, now, there's Michael, and Stephen, and Amariah," exclaimed Phineas, joyfully. "Now we are as safe as if we'd got there."

  "Well, do stop, then, and do something for that poor man; he's groaning dreadfully," said Eliza.

  "It would be no more than Christian," said George; "let's take him up and carry him on."

  "And doctor him up among the Quakers?" said Phineas. "Well, I don't care if we do," and Phineas, who, in the course of his hunting and backwoods life, had acquired some rude experience in surgery, kneeled down by the wounded man, and began a careful examination of his condition.

  "Marks," said Tom, feebly, "is this you, Marks?"

  "No, I reckon 'tain't, friend," said Phineas. "Much Marks cares for thee, if his own skin's safe. He's off long ago."

  "I believe I'm done for," said Tom. "The cussed, sneaking dog, to go and leave me to die alone! My poor old mother always told me it would be like this."

  "La sakes! jist hear the poor critter. He's got a mammy now," said the old negress. "I can't help kinder pitying him."

  "Softly, softly; don't thee snap and snarl, friend," said Phineas, as Tom winced and pushed his hand away. "Thee has no chance, unless I stop the bleeding."

  "You pushed me down there," said Tom, faintly.

  "Well, if I hadn't thee would have pushed us down, thee sees," said Phineas, as he stooped to apply his bandage. "There, there—let me fix this bandage. Thee shall be taken to a house where they will nurse thee first-rate, as well as thy own mother could."

  The other party now came up. The seats were taken out of the wagon, and four men lifted Tom's heavy form into it.

  "What do you think of him?" asked George.

  "Well, it's a pretty deep flesh wound, but he'll get over it."

  "What are you going to do with him?" asked George, as they rode along. "I shall carry him to Amariah's. There's old Grandma Stephens there she's most an amazin' nurse."

  A ride of about an hour more brought them to a neat farmhouse, where the weary travellers were received and given an abundant breakfast. Tom Loker was soon carefully placed in a much cleaner, softer bed than he had ever been in the habit of occupying. His wound was carefully dressed and bandaged, and here, for the present, we shall take our leave of him and the rest of the party.