ar the abuse. Young Jack Walthall was sitting in a
chair near the door, whittling a piece of white pine. He put his knife
in his pocket, and, whistling softly, looked at Little Compton
curiously. Then he walked to where Pulliam was standing.

"If I were you, Pulliam," he said, "and wanted to abuse anybody, I'd
pick out a bigger man than that."

"I don't see anybody," said Pulliam.

"Well, d---- you!" exclaimed Walthall, "if you are that blind, I'll open
your eyes for you!"

Whereupon he knocked Pulliam down. At this Little Compton ran out
excitedly, and it was the impression of the spectators that he intended
to attack the man who had been abusing him; but, instead of that, he
knelt over the prostrate bully, wiped the blood from his eyes, and
finally succeeded in getting him to his feet. Then Little Compton
assisted him into the store, placed him in a chair, and proceeded to
bandage his wounded eye. Walthall, looking on with an air of supreme
indifference, uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and sauntered
carelessly away.

Sauntering back an hour or so afterward, he found that Pulliam was still
in Little Compton's store. He would have passed on, but Little Compton
called to him. He went in prepared to be attacked, for he knew Pulliam
to be one of the most dangerous men in that region, and the most
revengeful; but, instead of making an attack, Pulliam offered his hand.

"Let's call it square, Jack. Your mother and my father are blood
cousins, and I don't want any bad feelings to grow out of this racket.
I've apologized to Mr. Compton here, and now I'm ready to apologize to
you."

Walthall looked at Pulliam and at his proffered hand, and then looked at
Little Compton. The latter was smiling pleasantly. This appeared to be
satisfactory, and Walthall seized his kinsman's hand, and exclaimed:

"Well, by George, Miles Pulliam! if you've apologized to Little Compton,
then it's my turn to apologize to you. Maybe I was too quick with my
hands, but that chap there is such a d---- clever little rascal that it
works me up to see anybody pester him."

"Why, Jack," said Compton, his little eyes glistening, "I'm not such a
scrap as you make out. It's just your temper, Jack. Your temper runs
clean away with your judgment."

"My temper! Why, good Lord, man! don't I just sit right down, and let
folks run over me whenever they want to? Would I have done anything if
Miles Pulliam had abused _me_?"

"Why, the gilded Queen