Don't hit him," said Farnham. "I think I have seen this man
somewhere."

"Why," said Kendall, "that's Sam Sleeny, a carpenter in Dean Street. He
orter be in better business."

"Yes, I remember," said Farnham; "he is a Reformer. Put him with the
others."

As they were tying his hands, Sam turned to Farnham and said, in a
manner which was made dignified by its slow, energetic malice, "You've
beat me to-night, but I will get even with you yet--as sure as there's
a God."

"That's reasonably sure," said Farnham; "but in the meanwhile, we'll
put you where you can cool off a little."

The street was now cleared; the last fugitives were out of sight.
Farnham returned to his garden, and then divided his men into squads
for patrolling the neighborhood. They waited for half an hour, and,
finding all was still quiet, then made arrangements for passing the
night. Farnham made Temple go into the house with him, and asked Budsey
to bring some sherry. "It is not so good as your Santa Rita," he said;
"but the exercise in the night air will give it a relish."

When the wine came, the men filled and drank, in sober American
fashion, without words; but in the heart of each there was the thought
of eternal friendship, founded upon brave and loyal service.

"Budsey," said Farnham, "give all the men a glass of this wine."

"Not this, sir?" said Budsey, aghast.

"I said this," replied Farnham. "Perhaps they won't enjoy it, but I
shall enjoy giving it to them."

Farnham and Temple were eating some bread and cheese and talking over
the evening, when Budsey came back with something which approached a
smile upon his grave countenance.

"Did they like it?" asked Farnham.

"Half of 'em said they was temperance and wouldn't 'ave any. Some of
the rest said--you will excuse me, sir--as it was d---- poor cider,"
and Budsey went out of the room with a suspicious convulsion of the
back.

"I'll go on that," said Mr. Temple. "Goodnight. I think we will have
good news in the morning. There will be an attack made on those men at
Riverley to-morrow which will melt them like an iceberg in Tartarus."
Mr. Temple was not classical, and, of course, did not say Tartarus.

Farnham was left alone. The reaction from the excitement of the last
few hours was settling upon him. The glow of the fight and his success
in it were dying away. Midnight was near, and a deep silence was
falling upon the city. There was no sound of bells, of steam-whistles,
or o