make you wilt in your tracks, like her father.  She was beautiful. So was her sister, Miss Sophia, but it was a different kind.  She was gentle and sweet like a dove, and she was only twenty. Each person had their own nigger to wait on them--Buck too.  My nigger had a monstrous easy time, because I warn't used to having anybody do anything for me, but Buck's was on the jump most of the time. This was all there was of the family now, but there used to be more--three sons; they got killed; and Emmeline that died. The old gentleman owned a lot of farms and over a hundred niggers. Sometimes a stack of people would come there, horseback, from ten or fifteen mile around, and stay five or six days, and have such junketings round about and on the river, and dances and picnics in the woods daytimes, and balls at the house nights.  These people was mostly kinfolks of the family.  The men brought their guns with them.  It was a handsome lot of quality, I tell you. There was another clan of aristocracy around there--five or six families--mostly of the name of Shepherdson.  They was as high-toned and well born and rich and grand as the tribe of Grangerfords.  The Shepherdsons and Grangerfords used the same steamboat landing, which was about two mile above our house; so sometimes when I went up there with a lot of our folks I used to see a lot of the Shepherdsons there on their fine horses. One day Buck and me was away out in the woods hunting, and heard a horse coming.  We was crossing the road.  Buck says: “Quick!  Jump for the woods!” We done it, and then peeped down the woods through the leaves.  Pretty soon a splendid young man come galloping down the road, setting his horse easy and looking like a soldier.  He had his gun across his pommel.  I had seen him before.  It was young Harney Shepherdson.  I heard Buck's gun go off at my ear, and Harney's hat tumbled off from his head.  He grabbed his gun and rode straight to the place where we was hid.  But we didn't wait