"When she's in the stage a-startin', Cherokee walks up, all
respectful.

"'You've been away from the States some time, Miss,' he says, 'an'
it's an even break you won't find things the way you expects. Now,
you remember, shore; whatever game's bein' turned back thar, if it
goes ag'in you, raise the long yell for a sharp called Cherokee
Hall; an' his bank's yours to go behind your play.'"




CHAPTER IV.

THE WASHWOMAN'S WAR.


It was evening. The first dark foreshadowing of the coming night
clothed all in half obscurity. But I knew the way; I could have
travelled the little path at midnight. There he was, the Old
Cattleman, under a favorite tree, the better to avoid the heavy dew.
He sat motionless and seemed to be soaking himself, as one might
say, in the balmy weather of that hour.

My wisdom had ordered Jim, my black man, to attend my steps. The
laconic, half-sad salutation of my old friend at once gave Black Jim
a mission. He was dispatched in quest of stimulants. After certain
exact and almost elaborate commands to Black Jim, and that useful
African's departure, I gently probed my companion with a question.