The grove was of limited extent, and, as I emerged from beneath its
shadow, I came suddenly to a patch of cultivated land, bisected by a
small stream, the path I was following leading along its bank. Holding
to this for guidance, within less than a hundred yards I came to the
house I was seeking, a small, log structure, overshadowed by a gigantic
oak, and standing isolated and alone. It appeared dark and silent,
although evidently inhabited, as an axe stood leaning against the jamb
of the door, while a variety of utensils were scattered about.
Believing the place to be occupied by a slave, or possibly some white
squatter, I advanced directly to the door, and called loudly to whoever
might be within.

There was no response, and, believing the occupant asleep, I used the
axe handle, rapping sharply. Still no voice answered, although I felt
convinced of some movement inside, leading me to believe that the
sleeper had slipped from his bed and was approaching the door. Again I
rapped, this time with greater impatience over the delay, but not the
slightest sound rewarded the effort Shivering there in my wet clothes,
the stubborn obduracy of the fellow awakened my anger.

"Open up, there," I called commandingly, "or else I'll take this axe
and break down your door."

In the darkness I had been unobservant of a narrow slide in the upper
panel, but had scarcely uttered these words of threat when the flare of
a discharge almost in my very face fairly blinded me, and I fell
backward, aware of a burning sensation in one shoulder. The next
instant I lay outstretched on the ground, and it seemed to me that life
was fast ebbing from my body. Twice I endeavored vainly to rise, but
at the second attempt my brain reeled dizzily and I sank back