id the man, with a grin.

"But I want it!" she exclaimed.

"I want it, too!" said he.

"Oh, it wouldn't do you any good," she reasoned. "Fifteen dollars. And
it's all the money I've got in the world!"

"I don't want no fifteen dollars," said the man; "and I don't want none
of your chinning. I want the money your husband's going to pay off
with--"

"Oh, Tom's money!" in quite a tone of relief. "Oh! I haven't anything to
do with Tom's money. If you can get any money out of Tom it's more than
_I_ can do. And I wouldn't advise you to try, either; for he always
carries a pistol in the same pocket with it, and he's covered all over
with knives and derringers and bull-dogs, so that sometimes _I_ don't
like to go near him till he's unloaded. You have to, in this country of
desperadoes. You see--"

"Yes, I see, you little hen-sparrer," his eyes coming back to her from a
survey of the room, "that you've got Tom's money in the house here, and
would like to throw me off the scent!"

"If I had," said she, "you'd only get it across my dead body! Hadn't you
better look for it, and have me tell you when you're hot and when you're
cold?"

"Come!" said he, again; "I've had enough of your slack--"

"You're not very polite," she said, with something like a pout.

"People in my line ain't," he answered, grimly. "I want that money! and
I want it now! I've no time to lose. I'd rather come by it peaceable,"
he growled, "but if--"

"Well, you can take it; of course, you're the stronger. But I told you
before, it's all I have, and I've very particular use for it. You just
sit down!" she cried, indicating a chair, with the air of really having
been alone so long in these desolate regions as to be glad of having
some one to talk to, and throwing herself into the big one opposite,
because in truth she could not stand up another moment. And perhaps
feeling as if a wren were expostulating with him about robbing her
nest, the man dropped the angry arm with which he had threatened her,
and leaned over the back of the chair.

"There it is," said she, "right under your hand all the time. You won't
have to rip up the mattress for it, or rummage the clothes-press, or
hunt through the broken crockery on the top shelves of the kitchen
cupboard," she ran on, as if she were delighted to hear the sound of her
own voice, and couldn't talk fast enough. "I always leave my purse on
the dressing-case, though Tom has told me, time and again, it wasn't