a horse. At
that moment the queerest feelin' I ever had came over me; a sort of cold
shiverin' feel. I forgot where I was; sight and hearin' left me; I could
only see two things, my twenty dollars fifty, and the well-filled belt
of the stranger I had left at Johnny's. Just then a voice called to me.

"'Whence come, countryman, and whither going?' it said.

"'Whence and whether,' answered I, as surly as could be; 'to the devil
at a gallop, and you'd better ride on and tell him I'm comin'.'

"'You can do the errand yourself,' answered the stranger larfin'; 'my
road don't lie that way.'

"As he spoke, I looked round, and saw, what I was pretty sure of before,
that it was the man with the belt full of money.

"'Ain't you the stranger I see'd in the inn yonder?' asked he.

"'And if I am,' says I; 'what's that to you?'

"'Nothin',' said he; 'nothin', certainly.'

"'Better ride on,' says I; 'and leave me quiet.'

"'Will so, stranger; but you needn't take it so mighty onkind. A word
ain't a tomahawk, I reckon,' said he. 'But I rayther expect your losin's
at play ain't put you in a very church-goin' humour; and, if I was you,
I'd keep my dollars in my pocket, and not set them on cards and dice.'

"This put me in a rile to hear him cast my losin's in my teeth that way.

"'You're a nice feller,' said I, 'to throw a man's losses in his face. A
pitiful chap _you_ are,' says I.

"I thought to provoke him, and that he'd tackle me. But he seemed to
have no fancy for a fight, for he said quite humble like--

"'I throw nothin' in your face; God forbid that I should reproach you
with your losses! I'm sorry for you, on the contrary. Don't look like a
man who can afford to lose his dollars. Seem to me one who airns his
money by hard work.'

"We were just then halted at the further end of the cane brake, close to
the trees that border the Jacinto. I had turned my horse, and was
frontin' the stranger. And all the time the devil was busy whisperin' to
me, and pointin' to the belt round the man's waist. I could see where it
was, plain enough, though he had buttoned his coat over it.

"'Hard work, indeed,' says I; 'and now I've lost every thing; not a cent
left for a quid of baccy.'

"'If that's all,' says he; 'there's help for that. I don't chew myself,
and I ain't a rich man; I've wife and children, and want every cent I've
got, but it's one's duty to help a countryman. You shall have money for
tobacco and a dram.'

"And s