to trade or carouse in Pendleton.

The man who faced the mountaineer, standing quietly between those who
held him, was young and slender, though tall. His longish black hair
was brushed carefully. The natural dead whiteness of his face was
accentuated by his black mustache, which turned up at the ends like
that of a duelist. He was dressed in black broadcloth, the long coat
buttoned closely about his body, but revealing a full and ruffled
shirt bosom as white as snow. His face expressed no emotion, but the
mountaineer cursed violently.

"I can read the story at once," said the editor, shrugging his
shoulders. "I know the mountaineer. He's Bill Skelly, a rough man,
prone to reach for the trigger, especially when he's full of bad whiskey
as he is now, and the other, Arthur Travers, is no stranger to you.
Skelly is for the abolition of slavery. All the mountaineers are.
Maybe it's because they have no slaves themselves and hate the more
prosperous and more civilized lowlanders who do have them. Harry,
my boy, as you grow older you'll find that reason and logic seldom
control men's lives."

"Skelly was excited over the news from South Carolina," said Harry,
continuing the story, which he, too, had read, as an Indian reads a
trail, "and he began to drink. He met Travers and cursed the slave-
holders. Travers replied with a sneer, which the mountaineer could
not understand, except that it hurt. Skelly snatched out his pistol
and fired wildly. Travers drew his and would have fired, although not
so wildly, but friends seized him. Meanwhile, others overpowered Skelly
and Travers is not excited at all, although he watches every movement
of his enemy, while seeming to be indifferent."