efully. 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."

"You read truly, Harry," said Gardner. "It was a fortunate thing for
Skelly that he was overpowered. Somehow, those two men facing each
other seem, in a way, to typify conditions in this part of the country
at least."

Harry was now watching Travers, who always aroused his interest.
A lawyer, twenty-seven or eight years of age, he had little practice,
and seemed to wish little. He had a wonderful reputation for dexterity
with cards and the pistol. A native of Pendleton, he was the son of
parents from one of the Gulf States, and Harry could never quite feel
that he was one of their own Kentucky blood and breed.

"You can release me," said Travers quietly to the young men who stood on
either side of him holding his arms. "I think the time has come to hunt
bigger game than a fool there like Skelly. He is safe from me."

He spoke with a supercilious scorn which impressed Harry, but which
he did not wholly admire.