over his shoulder. From the tall stone chimney at the back of the
cabin rose the blue smoke of the kitchen fire, to be whirled away
on the wind that was guiding the storm out of the rumbling north.
There was a dull, wavering glow in the room behind her. At one of
the two small windows gleamed a candle-light.

"What's takin' you to Clark's Point? There ain't no tavern there.
There ain't nothin' there but a hitch-post and a waterin'-trough.
Oh, yes, I forgot. Right behind the hitch-post is Jake Stone's
store and a couple of ash-hoppers and a town-hall, but you wouldn't
notice 'em if you happened to be on the wrong side of the post.
Mebby it's Middleton you're lookin' fer."

"I am looking for a place to put up for the night, friend. We met
a man back yonder, half an hour ago, who said the nearest tavern
was at Clark's Point."

"What fer sort of lookin' man was he?"

"Tall fellow with red whiskers, riding a grey horse."

"That was Jake Stone hisself. Beats all how that feller tries to
advertise his town. He says it beats Crawfordsville and Lafayette
all to smash, an' it's only three or four months old. Which way
was he goin'?"

"I suppose you'd call it south. I've lost my bearings, you see."

"That's it. He was on his way down to Attica to get drunk. They
say Attica's goin' to be the biggest town on the Wabash. Did I ask