ething so menacing in his look, and in his wrathful
frown, that Gualtier started back a pace, and put his hand to his
breast-pocket to seize his revolver.

"No you don't!" exclaimed Obed, and quick as lightning he seized
Gualtier's hand, while he held his clenched fist in his face.

"I'm up to all those tricks," he continued, "and you can't come it
over me, you scoundrel! Here--off with all that trash."

And knocking off Gualtier's hat, as he held his hand in a grasp from
which the unhappy prisoner could not release himself, he tore off his
wig and his mustache.

Gualtier was not exactly a coward, for he had done things which
required great boldness and presence of mind, and Obed himself had
said this much in his criticisms upon Black Bill's story; but at the
present moment there was something in the tremendous figure of Obed,
and also in the fear which he had that all was discovered, which made
him cower into nothingness before his antagonist. Yet he said not a
word.

"And now," said Obed, grimly, "perhaps you'll have the kindness to
inform me what you are doing here--you, of all men in the
world--dodging about in disguise, and tracking my footsteps. What the
devil do you mean by sneaking after me again? You saw me once, and
that ought to have been enough. What do you want? Is it something
more about General Pomeroy? And what do you mean by trying to draw a
pistol on me on my own premises? Tell me the truth, you mean,
sallow-faced rascal, or I'll shake the bones out of your body!"

In an ordinary case of sudden seizure Gualtier might have contrived
to get out of the difficulty by his cunning and presence of mind. But
this was by no means an ordinary case. This giant who thus seemed to
come down upon him us suddenly as though he had dropped from the
skies, and who thundered forth these fierce, imperative questions in
his ear, did not allow him much space in which to collect his
thoughts, or time to put them into execution. There began to come
over him a terror of this man, whom he fancied to be intimately
acquainted with his whole career. "Thus conscience does make cowards
of us all," and Gualtier, who was generally not a coward, felt very
much like one on this occasion. Morally, as well as physically, he
felt himself crushed by his opponent. It was, therefore, with utter
helplessness, and the loss of all his usual strength of mind and
self-control, that he stammered forth his answer:

"I--I came here--to--to g