"Marse Perkins ought to know 'bout dis," cried Jute.
The suggestion was enough. The whole terror-stricken throng rushed
in a body to the overseer's cottage and began calling and shrieking,
"Come out yere! come out yere!" Confused in his sudden waking and
thinking he was mobbed, he shouted through the window, "I'll shoot a
dozen of yer ef yer don't clar out."
"Marse Perkins, des you lis'n," rose in chorus from those far beyond
the fear of mortal weapons.
In the silence that followed the rushing wind bore down to them a
weird, dismal howl that in Perkins's ears met every ghostly
requirement. His teeth began to chatter like castanets, and
snatching his jug of corn whiskey he swallowed great draughts.
"We des tink you orter know 'bout dis," said Jute.
"Cert'ny," cried Perkins in his sudden flame of false courage. "I'll
light a lantern and take twenty o' you hands round that place. Ef
thar's a cuss yonder makin' this 'sturbance we'll roast 'im alive."
In a moment or two he dressed and came out with a light and his gun.
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