Nothing was molested.

Much pleased, but still puzzled, the old lady was now convinced that I was no Tennessee lad, but a sure-enough Yankee, and one with a remarkable amount of influence.

When I asked for a little something to eat in return for what I had done, the best there was in the house was spread before me.
My hostess urged me to eat as speedily as possible, and be on my way.
Her men folks, she said, would soon return from the timber, and if they learned that I was a Yank would shoot me on the spot.

As she was speaking the back door was pushed open and three men rushed in.

The old lady leaped between them and me.
"Don't shoot him!" she cried.