They sang "John Brown's Body," and as its echoes died away a big negro swung his rifle in a circle over his head, shouting:
"Here's your regulator for white trash! En dey's nine hundred ob 'em in dis county!"
"Yes, Lawd!" howled another.
"We got 'em down now en we keep 'em dar, chile!" bawled another.
The doctor passed on slowly to the hotel. The night was dark, the streets were without lights under their present rulers, and the stars were hidden with swift-flying clouds which threatened a storm. As he passed under the boughs of an oak in front of his house, a voice above him whispered:
"A message for you, sir."
Had the wings of a spirit suddenly brushed his cheek, he would not have been more startled.
"Who are you?" he asked, with a slight tremor.
"A Night Hawk of the Invisible Empire, with a message from the Grand Dragon of the Realm," was the low answer, as he thrust a note in the doctor's hand. "I will wait for your answer."
The doctor fumbled to his office on the corner of the lawn, struck a match, and read:
"A great Scotch-Irish leader of the South from Memphis is here to-night and wishes to see you. If you will meet General Forrest, I will bring him to the hotel in fifteen minutes. Burn this. Ben."
The doctor walked quickly back to the spot where he had heard the voice, and said:
