also the post-office. Young Reeves was
inside the post-office corner giving out the mail, and Anson sauntered
about the store waiting his chance.

He was a dangerous-looking man just now. Ordinarily his vast frame,
huge, grizzled beard, and stern, steady eyes would quell a panther; but
now as he leaned against the counter a shrewd observer would have said,
"Lookout for him; he's dangerous."

His gray shirt, loose at the throat, showed a neck that resembled the
spreading base of an oak tree, and his crossed limbs and half-recumbent
pose formed a curious opposition to the look in his eyes.

Nobody noticed him specially. Most comers and goers, being occupied
with their mail, merely nodded and passed on.

Finally some one called for a cigar, and Reeves, having finished in the
post-office department, came jauntily along behind the counter directly
to where Anson stood. As he looked casually into the giant's eyes he
started back, but too late; one vast hand had clutched him by the
collar, and he was jerked over the counter and cuffed from hand to
hand, like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Though Ans used his open palm,
the punishment was fearful. Blood burst from his victim's nose and
mouth; he yelled with fright and pain.

The rest rushed to help.

"Stand back! This is a private affair," said Ans, throwing up a warning
hand. They paused; all knew his strength.

"It wasn't me!" screamed Reeves as the punishment increased; "it was
Doc Coe."

Coe, his hands full of papers and letters, horrified at what had
overtaken Reeves, stood looking on. But now he tried to escape.
Flinging the battered, half-senseless Reeves back over the counter,
where he lay in a heap, Anson caught Coe by the coat just as he was
rushing past him, and duplicated the punishment, ending by kicking him
into the street, where he lay stunned and helpless. Ans said then, in a
voice that the rest heard, "The next time you insult a girl, you'd
better inquire into the qualities of her guardeen."

This little matter attended to, he unhitched his horse from the
sidewalk, and refusing to answer any questions, rode off home,
outwardly as calm as though he had just been shaking hands.

Supper was about ready when he drove up, and through the open door he
could see the white-covered table and could hear the cheerful clatter
of dishes. Flaxen was whistling. Eight years of hard work had not done
much for these sturdy souls, but they had managed to secure with
i