a meal. Mother, trembling for the safety of her husband, who lay sick
upstairs, hastened to get it for him. As the old scoundrel sat waiting
he caught sight of me.

"Look yere, kid," he shouted, "ye see this knife?"

He drew a long, wicked bowie. "Well, I'm going to sharpen that to
finish up the job that Charlie Dunn began the other day." And scowling
horribly at me he began whetting the knife on a stone he picked up from
the table.

Now, I knew something about a gun, and there was a gun handy. It was
upstairs, and I lost no time in getting it. Sitting on the stairs I
cocked it and held it across my knees. I am sure that I should have
shot him had he attempted to come up those stairs.

He didn't test my shooting ability, however. He got even with me by
taking my beloved pony, Prince, when he left. Mother pleaded with him
to leave it, for it was the only animal we had, but she might as well
have pleaded with a wildcat.

We had now been reduced to utter destitution. Our only food was what
rabbits and birds I could trap and catch with the help of our faithful
old dog Turk, and the sod corn which we grated into flour. Father could
be of no service to us. His presence, in fact, was merely a menace. So,
with the help of Brown, Jim Lane and other Free-soilers, he made his
way back to Ohio and began recruiting for his Grasshopper Falls colony.

He returned to us in the spring of '57 mortally ill. The wound
inflicted by Dunn had at last fulfilled the murderer's purpose. Father