when my black-bearded man last seen in Dubuque with a constable holding
him by the arm, came driving up, and went about among the various wagons
as if looking for something. I knew he was seeking me, and spoke to him.

"Oh!" he said, as if all at once easier in his mind. "Where's my--"

"She's in the house," I said; "this is a kind of a tavern."

"Good!" said he. "I'm much obliged to you. Here's your supplies. I had
to buy this light wagon and a team of horses in Dubuque, and it took a
little time, it took a little time."

I now noticed that he had a way of repeating his words, and giving them
a sort of friendly note as if he were taking you into his confidence.
When I offered to pay him for the supplies, he refused. "I'm in debt to
you. I don't remember what they cost--got them with some things for
myself; a trifle, a trifle. Glad to do more for you--no trouble at all,
none whatever."

"Didn't you have any trouble in Dubuque?" I asked, thinking of the man
who had threatened to shoot him in front of the post-office, and how the
black-bearded man had called upon the bystanders to bear witness that he
was about to shoot in self-defense. He gave me a sharp look; but it was
too dark to make it worth anything to him.

"No trouble at all," he said. "What d'ye mean?"

Before I could answer there came up a man carrying a shotgun in one
hand, and a wild goose over his shoulder. Following him was a darky with
a goose over each shoulder. I threw some dry sticks on my fire, and it