little, and Harry knew that some thought of the family
rifle had been in her mind. The husband's glare became ferocious.

"You can take your hands down," said Harry. "I've no wish to torture you,
and I'm satisfied now that you're not armed."

The man dropped his arms and the woman hurried to the kitchen. Harry did
not watch her, but kept his eyes continually upon the man, who he knew
would take advantage of his first careless moment, and spring for him
like a tiger. A pistol that he couldn't fire wouldn't be of much use to
him then.

But the woman returned with a big tin cup of smoking coffee and a plate
piled high with bread and bacon and beefsteak. It was a welcome sight.
The aspect of the whole world became brighter at once, and the pulse of
hope beat high. But happiness did not make him relax caution.

"Stand back about ten feet more," he said to the man, "I don't like your
looks."

"What's the matter with my looks?"

"It's not exactly your looks I mean, though they're scarcely worthy of
the lady, your wife, but it's rather your attitude or position which
reminds me of a lion or a tiger about to spring upon something it hates."

The man, with a savage growl, withdrew a little.

"I'd like to put a bullet through you," he said.

"I've no doubt of it, your eyes show it, but before I take a polite leave
of you I want to tell you that I did not steal this horse from your
friend, Jim Kendall. I paid for it at his own valuation."

"Confederate money that won't be worth a dollar a bale before long."

"Oh, no, bills that were made and stamped at Washington, and I pay for
this breakfast in silver."

He dropped it into the hand of the woman, as he took the huge cup of
coffee from her. Then he drank deep and long, and again and again,
draining the last drop of the brown liquid.

"I hope it's burnt the lining out of your throat," said the man savagely.

"It was warm, but I like it that way. It was good indeed, and I'm sorry,
Madame, that you have such a violent and ill-tempered husband. Maybe
your next will be a much better man."

"John is neither violent nor ill-tempered. He's never said a harsh word
to me since we were married. But he hates the rebels dreadfully."

"That's too bad. I don't hate him and I'm glad you can give him a good
character. A man's own wife knows best. Now, I'm going to eat this
breakfast as I ride on. You'll find the plate on the fence a quarter of
a mile ahead."

He b