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Updated: July 25, 2025
Bilkins had acted as armorer and laid out rifles, bandoliers bulging with filled clips, and a few automatic revolvers; then in a low tone he said to me: "I'll never go back, sir, if anything happens to you today." "Yes, you will," I replied, touched by his show of devotion. "You'll have to tell them why it happened. But don't be a raincrow. We'll come through."
The town was asleep, except for the rattle of milk-carts, the banging of shutters, and the hum of a street-car, and Crittenden moved through empty streets to the broad smooth turnpike on the south, where Raincrow shook his head, settled his haunches, and broke into the swinging trot peculiar to his breed for home. Spring in the Bluegrass!
"Well, hitch up " Raincrow, he was about to say, and then he remembered that Raincrow was dead. "Have you got anything to drive?" "Yessuh; we got Mr. Basil's little mare." "Hitch her up to my buggy, then, right away. I want you to drive me." The old darky looked puzzled, but Mrs. Crittenden, still with the idea of humouring him, nodded for him to obey, and the old man turned toward the stable.
The sound of buggy wheels and a fast-trotting horse rose behind them. Raincrow lifted his head and quickened his pace, but Crittenden pulled him in as Basil and Phyllis swept by. The two youngsters were in high spirits, and the boy shook his whip back and the girl her handkerchief both crying something which neither Judith nor Crittenden could understand.
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