hand, and doing the same with the soldier, before Boland could repel him,
as he would have done, exclaimed, "Glad to see you, cunnel;--same to you,
strannger--What's the news from Virginnie? Strannger, my name's Ralph
Stackpole, and I'm a ring-tailed squealer!"

"Then, Mr. Ralph Stackpole, the ring-tailed squealer," said Roland,
disengaging his hand, "be so good as to pursue your business, without
regarding or taking any notice of me."

"'Tarnal death to me!" cried the captain of horse-thieves, indignant at
the rebuff, "I'm a gentleman, and my name's _Fight_! Foot and hand, tooth
and nail, claw and mudscraper, knife, gun, and tomahawk, or any other way
you choose to take me, I'm your man! Cock-a-doodle-doo!" And with that
the gentleman jumped into the air, and flapped his wings, as much to the
amusement of the provoker of his wrath as of any other person present.

"Come, Ralph," said the commander of the Station, "whar'd' you steal that
brown mar' thar?"--a question whose abruptness somewhat quelled the
ferment of the man's fury, while it drew a roar of laughter from the
lookers-on.

"Thar it is!" said he, striking an attitude and clapping a hand on his
breast, like a man who felt his honour unjustly assailed. "Steal! _I_
steal any horse but an Injun's! Whar's the man dar's insinivate that?
Blood and massacree-ation! whar's the man?"

"H'yar," said Bruce, very composedly. "I know that old mar' belongs to
Peter Harper, on the north side."

"You're right, by Hooky!" cried Roaring Ralph; at which seeming admission