me if I did not let go, but I heeded not; I jerked him off his
horse, kicked his pistol across the road, mashed his mouth, slammed him
against the ground. The shrieking girl cried out that I was a brute, and
I told her that I could whip her whole family, a charming bit of
repartee, I thought, but afterward I remembered that her family
consisted of herself and an aged grandmother, and I sent her an abject
apology. Bentley's horse cantered away, and I left the fellow lying in
the road, with the girl standing over him, shrieking for help. It was
all done in a minute, and with jolting tread I stalked away before any
one came up. Of course there was a great scandal. My poor mother was
grieved and humiliated, ashamed to meet any of the neighbors; and my
father swore that instead of becoming a school teacher I ought to turn
out as a highwayman. My brothers thought to have some fun with me, but I
frightened them with a roar, and for a time they were afraid to smile in
my presence. I was almost heartbroken over my disgrace. Without undue
praise I can say that I was generous and kindhearted; even as a child I
had shown almost a censurable unselfishness; I had given away my
playthings, and my sensibilities were so tender that I could not bear
the sight of a suffering animal, and I remember that an old man laughed
at me because I could not cut the throat of a sheep when the poor thing
had been hung up by the heels. And now I was put down as a heartless
brute. Bentley's face constantly haunted me. I was afraid that he might
die, and once when I heard that he was not likely to get well, I was
resolved to go to him, to beg his pardon. Two weeks had passed; it was
night and rain was pouring down, but I cared naught for the wetting. I
found Bentley sitting up with his face bandaged. His mother frowned at
me when she opened the door and saw me standing there under the drip,
and it was some time before she asked me to come in, and I have thought
that she would have driven me off had not the sight of me, wet and
debased, aroused her pity. Bentley held out his hand when I entered the
room, and he said, "I don't blame you, Bill. It was mean of me, but I
wanted to be smart." I was so full, so choked with emotion, that it was
some time before I could say a word. But after a time I spoke of the
rain, and told him that I thought that I had heard a wildcat as I came
along, which was a lie, for I had heard nothing save the wind and the
rain falling