Her eyes already were upon me, exhibiting her fright and perplexity, her knowledge that I had viewed something of horror.
She could keep silent no longer.
"Tell me--please," she begged.

"Is the man dead?
Who is he, do you know ?" "Yes," I replied desperately.

"He is dead, and I recognize his face.
He is the negro Pete, and has been killed, shot from behind.

I cannot understand how it has happened." "Pete," she echoed, grasping at the log to keep erect, her eyes on that dimly revealed figure in the leaves.

"Free Pete, Carlton's Pete?
How--how could he have got here?
Then--then the others must have been with him.