"I've been there, and I don't like it.  It's too hard work for a

gentleman."

This was uttered in such a magnificent tone of disdain that Joe was
rather amused at the fellow.  In his red shirt and coarse breeches,
and brown, not overclean skin, he certainly didn't look much like a
gentleman in the conventional sense of that term.

"It's all well enough to be a gentleman if you've got money to fall
back on," remarked Joshua sensibly.

"Is that personal?" demanded the Pike County man, frowning and half
rising.

"It's personal to me," said Joshua quietly.

"I accept the apology," said the newcomer, sinking back upon the turf.

"I hain't apologized, as I'm aware," said Joshua, who was no craven.

"You'd better not rile me, stranger," said the Pike man fiercely.
"You don't know me, you don't.  I'm a rip-tail roarer, I am.  I
always kill a man who insults me."

"So do we," said Joe quietly.

The Pike County man looked at Joe in some surprise.  He had expected
to frighten the boy with his bluster, but it didn't seem to produce
the effect intended.




CHAPTER XXVI

A DESPERADO

Mr. Bickford also seemed a little surprised at Joe's coolness.
Though not a coward in the face of danger, he had been somewhat
impressed by the fierce aspect of the man from Pike County, and
really looked upon him as a reckless daredevil who was afraid of
nothing.  Joe judged him more truly.  He decided that a man who
boasted so loudly was a sham.  If he had talked less, he would have
feared him more.

After his last bloodthirsty declaration the man from Pike County
temporarily subsided.

He drew out from his pocket a greasy pack of cards, and after
skilfully shuffling them inquired:

"What do you say, strangers, to a little game to pass away the time?"

"I never played keards in my life," said Joshua Bickford.

"Where was you raised?" demanded the Pike man contemptuously.

"Pumpkin Hollow, State o' Maine," said Joshua.  "Dad's an orthodox
deacon.  He never let any of us play keards.  I don't know one from
t'other."

"I'll learn you," said the Pike man condescendingly.  "Suppose we
have a game of poker?"

"Ain't that a gambling' game?" inquired Joshua.

"We always play for something," said the Pike man.  "It's dern
foolishness playin' for nothing.  Shall we have a game?"

He looked at Joe as he spoke.

"I don't care to play," said our hero.  "I don't know much about
cards, and I don't want to play for money."

"That's dern foolishness," said the stranger, whose object it was to
clean out his new friends, being an expert gambler.

"Perhaps it is," said Joe, "but I only speak for myself.  Mr.
Bickford may feel differently."

"Will you take a hand, Bickford?" asked the Pike man, thinking it
possible that Joshua might have some money of which he could relieve
him.

"You kin show me how to play if you want to," said Joshua, "but I
won't gamble any."

The Pike man put up his pack of cards in disgust.

"Derned if I ever met sich fellers!" he said.  "You're Methodists,
ain't you?"

"We generally decline doing what we don't want to do," said Joe.

"Look here, boy," blustered the Pike man, "I reckon you don't know
me.  I'm from Pike County, Missouri, I am.  I'm a rip-tail roarer, I
am.  I kin whip my weight in wildcats."

"You told us that afore," said Joshua placidly.

"Derned if I don't mean it, too!" exclaimed the Pike County man, with
a fierce frown.  "Do you know how I served a man last week?"

"No.  Tell us, won't you?" said Joshua.

"We was ridin' together over in Alameda County.  We'd met
permiscuous, like we've met to-day.  I was tellin' him how four b'ars
attacked me once, and I fit 'em all single-handed, when he laughed,
and said he reckoned I'd been drinkin' and saw double.  If he'd
knowed me better, he wouldn't have done it."

"What did you do?" asked Joshua, interested.

Joe, who was satisfied that the fellow was romancing, did not exhibit
any interest.

"What did I do?" echoed the Pike County man fiercely.  "I told him he
didn't know the man he insulted.  I told him I was from Pike County,
Missouri, and that I was a rip-tail roarer."

"And could whip your weight in wildcats," suggested Joe.

The Pike man appeared irritated.

"Don't interrupt me, boy," he said.  "It ain't healthy."

"After you'd made them remarks what did you do?" inquired Joshua.

"I told him he'd insulted me and must fight.  I always do that."

"Did he fight?"

"He had to."

"How did it come out?"

"I shot him through the heart," said the man from Pike County
fiercely.  "His bones are bleaching in the valley where he fell."

"Sho!" said Joshua.

The Pike County man looked from one to the other to see what effect
had been produced by his blood-curdling narration.  Joshua looked
rather perplexed, as if he didn't quite know what to think, but Joe
seemed tranquil.

"I think you said it happened last week," said Joe.

"If I said so, it is so," said the Pike man, who in truth did not
remember what time he had mentioned.

"I don't question that.  I was only wondering how his bones could
begin to bleach so soon after he was killed."

"Just so," said Joshua, to whom this difficulty had not presented
itself before.

"Do you doubt my word, stranger?" exclaimed the Pike man, putting his
hand to his side and fingering his knife.

"Not at all," said Joe.  "But I wanted to understand how it was."

"I don't give no explanations," said the Pike man haughtily, "and I
allow no man to doubt my word."

"Look here, my friend," said Joshua, "ain't you rather cantankerous?"

"What's that?" demanded the other suspiciously.

"No offense," said Joshua, "but you take a feller up so we don't know
exactly how to talk to you."

"I take no insults," said the Pike man.  "Insults must be washed out
in blood."

"Soap-suds is better than blood for washin' purposes," said Joshua
practically.  "Seems to me you're spoilin' for a fight all the time."

"I allow I am," said the Pike man, who regarded this as a compliment.
"I was brought up on fightin'.  When I was a boy I could whip any boy
in school."

"That's why they called you a rip-tail roarer, I guess," said Joshua.

"You're right, stranger," said the Pike man complacently.

"What did you do when the teacher give you a lickin'?" asked Mr.
Bickford.

"What did I do?" yelled the Pike County man, with a demoniac frown.

"Exactly so."

"I shot him!" said the Pike man briefly.

"Sho!  How many teachers did you shoot when you was a boy?"

"Only one.  The rest heard of it and never dared touch me."

"So you could play hookey and cut up all you wanted to?"

"You're right, stranger."

"They didn't manage that way at Pumpkin Hollow," said Mr. Bickford.
"Boys ain't quite so handy with shootin'-irons.  When the master
flogged us we had to stand it."

"Were you afraid of him?" asked the Pike man disdainfully.

"Well, I was," Joshua admitted.  "He was a big man with arms just
like flails, and the way he used to pound us was a caution."

"I'd have shot him in his tracks," said the Pike man fiercely.

"You'd have got a wallopin' fust, I reckon," said Joshua.

"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded the Pike man.

"Oh, lay down, and don't be so cantankerous," said Joshua.  "You're
allus thinkin' of bein' insulted."

"We may as well be going," said Joe, who was thoroughly disgusted
with their new companion.

"Just as you say, Joe," said Joshua.  "Here, you pesky critter, come
and let me mount you."

The mustang realized Joe's prediction.  After his hearty supper he
seemed to be quite tractable and permitted Mr. Bickford to mount him
without opposition.

Joe also mounted his horse.

"I'll ride along with you if you've no objections," said the Pike
man.  "We kin camp together to-night."

So saying, he too mounted the sorry-looking steed which he had
recently dismounted.

Joe was not hypocrite enough to say that he was welcome.  He thought
it best to be candid.

"If you are quite convinced that neither of us wishes to insult you,"
he said quietly, "you can join us.  If you are bent on quarreling,
you had better ride on by yourself."

The Pike man frowned fiercely.

"Boy," he said, "I have shot a man for less than that."

"I carry a revolver," said Joe quietly, "but I shan't use it unless
it is necessary.  If you are so easily offended, you'd better ride on
alone."

This the Pike man did not care to do.

"You're a strange boy," he said, "but I reckon you're on the square.
I'll go along with you."

"I would rather you'd leave us," thought Joe, but he merely said:
"Very well."




CHAPTER XXVII

TWO TRAGIC STORIES

They rode on for about an hour and a half.  Joshua's steed, placated
by his good supper, behaved very well.  Their ride was still through
the canon.  Presently it became too dark for them to proceed.

"Ain't we gone about fur enough for to-night?" asked Joshua.

"Perhaps we have," answered Joe.

"Here's a good place to camp," suggested the man from Pike County,
pointing to a small grove of trees to the right.

"Very well; let us dismount," said Joe.  "I think we can pass the
night comfortably."

They dismounted, and tied their beasts together under one of the
trees.  They then threw themselves down on a patch of greensward
near-by.

"I'm gettin' hungry," said Joshua.  "Ain't you, Joe?"

"Yes, Mr. Bickford.  We may as well take supper."

Mr. Bickford produced a supper of cold, meat and bread, and placed it
between Joe and himself.

"Won't you share our supper?" said Joe to their companion.

"Thank ye, stranger, I don't mind if I do," answered the Pike man,
with considerable alacrity.  "My fodder give out this mornin', and I
hain't found any place to stock up."

He displayed such an appetite that Mr. Bickford regarded him with
anxiety.  They had no more than sufficient for themselves, and the
prospect of such a boarder was truly alarming.

"You have a healthy appetite, my friend," he said.

"I generally have," said the Pike man.  "You'd orter have some
whisky, strangers, to wash it down with."

"I'd rather have a good cup of coffee sweetened with 'lasses, sech as
marm makes to hum," remarked Mr. Bickford.

"Coffee is for children, whisky for strong men," said the Roarer.

"I prefer the coffee," said Joe.

"Are you temperance fellers?" inquired the Pike man contemptuously.

"I am," said Joe.

"And I, too," said Joshua.

"Bah!" said the other disdainfully; "I'd as soon drink skim-milk.
Good whisky or brandy for me."

"I wish we was to your restaurant, Joe," said Joshua.  "I kinder
hanker after some good baked beans.  Baked beans and brown bread are
scrumptious.  Ever eat 'em, stranger?"

"No," said the Pike man; "none of your Yankee truck for me."

"I guess you don't know what's good," said Mr. Bickford.  "What's
your favorite vittles?"

"Bacon and hominy, hoe-cakes and whisky."

"Well," said Joshua, "it depends on the way a feller is brung up.  I
go for baked beans and brown bread, and punkin pie--that's
goloptious.  Ever eat punkin pie, stranger?"

"Yes."

"Like it?"

"I don't lay much on it."

Supper was over and other subjects succeeded.  The Pike County man
became social.

"Strangers," said he, "did you ever hear of the affair I had with
Jack Scott?"

"No," said Joshua.  "Spin it off, will you?"

"Jack and me used to be a heap together.  We went huntin' together,
camped out for weeks together, and was like two brothers.  One day we
was ridin' out, when a deer started up fifty rods ahead.  We both
raised our guns and shot at him.  There was only one bullet into him,
and I knowed that was mine."

"How did you know it?" inquired Joshua.

"Don't you get curious, stranger.  I knowed it, and that was enough.
But Jack said it was his.  'It's my deer,' he said, 'for you missed
your shot.'  'Look here, Jack,' said I, 'you're mistaken.  You missed
it.  Don't you think I know my own bullet?'  'No, I don't,' said he.
'Jack,' said I calmly, 'don't talk that way.  It's dangerous.'  'Do
you think I'm afraid of you?' he said, turning on me.  'Jack,' said
I, 'don't provoke me.  I can whip my weight in wildcats.'  'You can't
whip me,' said he.  That was too much for me to stand.  I'm the
Rip-tail Roarer from Pike County, Missouri, and no man can insult me
and live.  'Jack,' said I, 'we've been friends, but you've insulted
me, and it must be washed out in blood.' Then I up with my we'pon and
shot him through the head."

"Sho!" said Joshua.

"I was sorry to do it, for he was my friend," said the Pike County
man, "but he disputed my word, and the man that does that may as well
make his will if he's got any property to leave."

Here the speaker looked to see what effect was produced upon his
listeners.  Joe seemed indifferent.  He saw through the fellow, and
did not credit a word he said.  Joshua had been more credulous at
first, but he, too, began to understand the man from Pike County.
The idea occurred to him to pay him back in his own coin.

"Didn't the relatives make any fuss about it?" he inquired.  "Didn't
they arrest you for murder?"

"They didn't dare to," said the Pike man proudly.  "They knew me.
They knew I could whip my weight in wildcats and wouldn't let no man
insult me."

"Did you leave the corpse lyin' out under the trees?" asked Joshua.

"I rode over to Jack's brother and told him what I had done, and
where he'd find the body.  He went and buried it."

"What about the deer?"

"What deer?"

"The deer you killed and your friend claimed?"

"Oh," said the Pike man, with sudden recollection, "I told Jack's
brother he might have it."

"Now, that was kinder handsome, considerin' you'd killed your friend
on account of it."

"There ain't nothin' mean about me," said the man from Pike County.

"I see there ain't," said Mr. Bickford dryly.  "It reminds me of a
little incident in my own life.  I'll tell you about it, if you
hain't any objection."

"Go ahead.  It's your deal."

"You see, the summer I was eighteen, my cousin worked for dad hayin'
time.  He was a little older'n me, and he had a powerful appetite,
Bill had.  If it wasn't for that, he'd 'a' been a nice feller enough,
but at the table he always wanted more than his share of wittles.
Now, that ain't fair, no ways--think it is, stranger?"

"No!  Go ahead with your story."

"One day we sat down to dinner.  Marm had made some apple-dumplin'
that day, and 'twas good, you bet.  Well, I see Bill a-eyin' the
dumplin' as he shoveled in the meat and pertaters, and I knowed he
meant to get more'n his share.  Now, I'm fond of dumplin' as well as
Bill, and I didn't like it.  Well, we was both helped and went to
eatin'.  When I was half through I got up to pour out some water.
When I cum back to the table Bill had put away his plate, which he
had cleaned off, and was eatin' my dumplin'."

"What did you say?" inquired the gentleman from Pike, interested.

"I said: 'Bill, you're my cousin, but you've gone too fur.'  He
laffed, and we went into the field together to mow.  He was just
startin' on his swath when I cum behind him and cut his head clean
off with my scythe."

Joe had difficulty in suppressing his laughter, but Mr. Bickford
looked perfectly serious.

"Why, that was butchery!" exclaimed the Pike man, startled.  "Cut off
his head with a scythe?"

"I hated to, bein' as he was my cousin," said Joshua, "but I couldn't
have him cum any of them tricks on me.  I don't see as it's any wuss
than shootin' a man."

"What did you do with his body?" asked Joe, commanding his voice.

"Bein' as 'twas warm weather, I thought I'd better bury him at once."

"Were you arrested?"

"Yes, and tried for murder, but my lawyer proved that I was crazy
when I did it, and so I got off."

"Do such things often happen at the North?" asked the Pike County man.

"Not so often as out here and down South, I guess," said Joshua.
"It's harder to get off.  Sometimes a man gets hanged up North for
handlin' his gun too careless."

"Did you ever kill anybody else?" asked the Pike man, eying Joshua
rather uneasily.

"No," said Mr. Bickford.  "I shot one man in the leg and another in
the arm, but that warn't anything serious."

It was hard to disbelieve Joshua, he spoke with such apparent
frankness and sincerity.  The man from Pike County was evidently
puzzled, and told no more stories of his own prowess.  Conversation,
died away, and presently all three were asleep.




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE EVENTS OF A NIGHT

The Pike County man was the first to fall asleep.  Joe and Mr.
Bickford lay about a rod distant from him.  When their new comrade's
regular breathing, assured Joe that he was asleep, he said:

"Mr. Bickford, what do you think of this man who has joined us?"

"I think he's the biggest liar I ever set eyes on," said Joshua
bluntly.

"Then you don't believe his stories?"

"No--do you?"

"I believe them as much as that yarn of yours about your Cousin
Bill," returned Joe, laughing.

"I wanted to give him as good as he sent.  I didn't want him to do
all the lyin'."

"And you a deacon's son!" exclaimed Joe, in comic expostulation.

"I don't know what the old man would have said if he'd heard me, or
Cousin Bill, either."

"Then one part is true--you have a Cousin Bill?"

"That isn't the only part that's true; he did help me and dad hayin'."

"But his head is still safe on his shoulders?"

"I hope so."

"I don't think we can find as much truth in the story of our friend
over yonder."

"Nor I.  If there was a prize offered for tall lyin' I guess he'd
stand a good chance to get it."

"Do you know, Joshua, fire-eater as he is, I suspect that he is a
coward."

"You do?"

"Yes, and I have a mind to put him to the test."

"How will you do it?"

"One day an old hunter came into my restaurant, and kept coming for a
week.  He was once taken prisoner by the Indians, and remained in
their hands for three months.  He taught me the Indian war-whoop, and
out of curiosity I practised it till I can do it pretty well."

"What's your plan?"

"To have you fire off your gun so as to wake him up.  Then I will
give a loud war-whoop and see how it affects the gentleman from Pike
County."

"He may shoot us before he finds out the deception."

"It will be well first to remove his revolver to make all safe.  I
wish you could give the war-whoop, too.  It would make a louder
noise."

"How do you do it?"

Joe explained.

"I guess I can do it.  You start it, and I'll j'in in, just as I used
to do in singin' at meetin'.  I never could steer through a tune
straight by myself, but when the choir got to goin', I helped 'em all
I could."

"I guess you can do it.  Now let us make ready."

The Pike County man's revolver was removed while he was unconsciously
sleeping.  Then Joshua and our hero ensconced themselves behind
trees, and the Yankee fired his gun.

The Pike man started up, still half asleep and wholly bewildered,
when within a rod of him he heard the dreadful war-whoop.  Then
another more discordant voice took up the fearful cry.  Joshua did
very well considering that it was his first attempt.

Then the man from Pike County sprang to his feet.  If it had been
daylight, his face would have been seen to wear a pale and scared
expression.  It did not appear to occur to him to make a stand
against the savage foes who he felt convinced were near at hand.  He
stood not on the order of going, but went at once.  He quickly
unloosed his beast, sprang upon his back, and galloped away without
apparently giving a thought to the companions with whom he had camped
out.

When he was out of hearing Joe and Bickford shouted with laughter.

"You see I was right," said Joe.  "The man's a coward."

"He seemed in a hurry to get away," said Joshua dryly.  "He's the
biggest humbug out."

"I thought so as soon as he began to brag so much."

"I believed his yarns at first," admitted Joshua.  "I thought he was
rather a dangerous fellow to travel with."