Bud was the victim.

Pete Jones had his revenge.

For Bud had been all the evening trying to muster courage enough to offer himself as Martha's escort.

He was not encouraged by the fact that he had spelled even worse than usual, while Martha had distinguished herself by holding her ground against Jeems Phillips for half an hour.

But he screwed his courage to the sticking place, not by quoting to himself the adage, "Faint heart never won fair lady," which, indeed, he had never heard, but by reminding himself that "ef you don't resk notin' you'll never git nothin'." So, when the spelling-school had adjourned, he sidled up to her, and, looking dreadfully solemn and a little foolish, he said: "Kin I see you safe home ?" And she, with a feeling that her uncle's life was in danger, and that his salvation depended upon her resolution--she, with a feeling that she was pronouncing sentence of death on her own great hope, answered huskily: "No, I thank you." If she had only known that it was the red barn with the Indian on top that was in danger, she would probably have let the galloping brave take care of himself.
It seemed to Bud, as he walked home mortified, disgraced, disappointed, hopeless, that all the world had gone down in a whirlpool of despair.
"Might a knowed it," he said to himself.