back against the wall as the door burst open. The room was instantly
filled to its utmost capacity with men, who dropped the butts of their
muskets on the floor with a jar that made the bottles in the bar clink
in concert.

Bement who had managed to get behind the bar, stood there with a face
like ashes, his flabby cheeks relaxed with terror so they hung like
dewlaps. He evidently expected nothing better than to be butchered
without mercy on the spot.

"Good morning, Mr. Bement," said Perez, as coolly as if he had just
dropped in for a glass of flip.

"Good morning sir," faintly articulated the landlord.

"You remember me, perhaps. I took dinner here, and visited by brother
in the jail last Saturday. I should like to see him again. Will you be
kind enough to hand me the keys, there behind you?" Bement stared as
if dazed at Perez, looked around at the crowd of men, and then looked
back at Perez again, and still stood gaping.

"Did ye hear the cap'n?" shouted Abner in a voice of thunder. Bement
gave a start of terror, and involuntarily turned to take the bunch of
keys down from the nail. But by the time he had turned, the keys were
no longer there.

It had been easy to see from the first, that Mrs. Bement was made of
quite different stuff from her husband. As she stood by his side
behind the bar, although she was tremulous with excitement, the look
with which she had faced the crowd was rather vixenish than