'Copperhead' or 'Peace men,' you've got to face it!"

There was an angry start in one or two of the seats; one man caught
at the swinging side-strap and half rose, a husky voice began, "It's a
d----d"--and then all as suddenly subsided. Every eye was turned to an
insignificant figure in the back seat. It was a woman, holding a
child on her lap, and gazing out of the window with her sex's profound
unconcern in politics. Clarence understood the rude chivalry of the road
well enough to comprehend that this unconscious but omnipotent figure
had more than once that day controlled the passions of the disputants.
They dropped back weakly to their seats, and their mutterings rolled off
in the rattle of the wheels. Clarence glanced at the Missourian; he was
regarding the red-bearded miner with a singular curiosity.

The rain had ceased, but the afternoon shadows were deepening when they
at last reached Fair Plains, where Clarence expected to take horse to
the Rancho. He was astonished, however, to learn that all the horses in
the stable were engaged, but remembering that some of his own stock were
in pasturage with a tenant at Fair Plains, and that he should probably
have a better selection, he turned his steps thither. Passing out of
the stable-yard he recognized the Missourian's voice in whispered
conversation with the proprietor, but the two men withdrew into the
shadow as he approached. An ill-defined uneasiness came over him; he
knew the proprietor, who also seemed to know the Missourian, and this
evident avoidance of him was significant. Perhaps his reputation as a
doubtful Unionist had preceded him, but this would not account for their
conduct in a district so strongly Southern in sympathy as Fair Plains.
More impressed by the occurrence than he cared to admit, when at last,
after some delay, he had secured his horse, and was once more in the
saddle, he kept a sharp lookout for his quondam companion. But here