mme up," sobbed Goliath furiously.

"Say you're whopped." Jeff's fist emphasized the suggestion.

"Doggone you!"

This kind of one-sided warfare did not suit Jeff. He made as if to get
up, but his backer stopped him.

"Hold on, son. You're not through yet. When you do a job do it
thorough." To the former champion he spoke. "Had plenty yet?"

"I--I'll have him skinned," came from the tearful champion with a burst
of profanity.

"That ain't the point. Have you had enough so you'll be good? Or do you
need some more?"

"I'm goin' to tell Webber."

"Needs just a leetle more, son," the one-armed man told Jeff, dragging
at his goatee.

But young Farnum had made up his mind. With a little twist of his body
he got to his feet.

Merrill rose, tearful and sullen. "I--I'll fix you for this," he gulped,
and went sobbing toward the schoolhouse.

"Better duck," James whispered to his cousin.

Jeff shook his head.

The little man looked at the boy sharply. The eyes under his shaggy
brows were like gimlets.

"Come up to the school with me. I'll see your teacher, son."

Jeff walked beside him. He knew by the sound of the voice that his
rescuer was a Southerner and his heart warmed to him. He wanted greatly
to ask a question. Presently it plumped out.

"Was it in the war, sir?"

"I reckon I don't catch your meaning."

"That you lost your arm?" The boy added quickly, "My father was a
soldier under General Early."

The steel-gray eyes shot at him again. "I was under Early myself."

"My father was a captain--Captain Farnum," the young warrior announced
proudly.

"Not Phil Farnum!"

"Yes, sir. Did you know him?" Jeff trembled with eagerness. His dead
soldier-father was the idol of his heart.

"Did I?" He swung Jeff round and looked at him. "You're like him, in a
way, and, by Gad! you fight like him. What's your name?"

"Jefferson Davis Farnum."

"Shake hands, Jefferson Davis Farnum, you dashed little rebel. My name
is Lucius Chunn. I was a lieutenant in your father's company before I
was promoted to one of my own."

Jeff forgot his troubles instantly. "I wish I'd been alive to go with
father to the war," he cried.

Captain Chunn was delighted. "You doggoned little rebel!"

"I didn't know we used that word in the South' sir."

Chunn tugged at his goatee and laughed. "We're not in the South, David."

The former Confederate asked questions to piece out his patchwork
information. He knew that Philip Farnum