The man who posed as the leader of the party picked up the empty
coffee-pot beside him and shook it.

"Come, now, Mrs. Bungay," he commanded, "I tell you we 're hungry, so
trot out some hoecake and fill up this pot, unless you want to reckon
with Red Lowrie."

The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot
begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now
that Maria possessed a temper of her own.

"You ain't no Red Lowrie," she retorted.

The fellow laughed easily.

"No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart
when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is
the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?"

Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy
of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken
of by another.

"If Jed Bungay wus hum," she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly
blazing, "I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer
long."

"Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as
long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to
fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump