nother member of the
party whose position had been too humble and unimportant to be included
in the group already noted. Of the same appearance as the other
teamsters in size, habits, and apparel, he had not at first exhibited to
Clarence any claim to sympathy. But it appeared that he was actually
a youth of only sixteen--a hopeless incorrigible of St. Joseph, whose
parents had prevailed on Peyton to allow him to join the party, by way
of removing him from evil associations and as a method of reform. Of
this Clarence was at first ignorant, not from any want of frankness on
the part of the youth, for that ingenious young gentleman later informed
him that he had killed three men in St. Louis, two in St. Jo, and that
the officers of justice were after him. But it was evident that to
precocious habits of drinking, smoking, chewing, and card-playing this
overgrown youth added a strong tendency to exaggeration of statement.
Indeed, he was known as "Lying Jim Hooker," and his various qualities
presented a problem to Clarence that was attractive and inspiring,
doubtful, but always fascinating. With the hoarse voice of early
wickedness and a contempt for ordinary courtesy, he had a round,
perfectly good-humored face, and a disposition that when not called
upon to act up to his self-imposed role of reckless wickedness, was not
unkindly.

It was only a few days after the massacre, and while the children were
still wrapped in the gloomy interest and frightened reticence which
followed it, that "Jim Hooker" first characteristically flashed upon
Clarence's perceptions. Hanging half on and half off the saddle of
an Indian pony, the lank Jim suddenly made his appearance, dashing
violently up and down the track, and around the wagon in which Clarence
was sitting, tugging desperately at the reins, with every indication of
being furiously run away with, and retaining his seat only with the most
dauntless courage and skill. Round and round they went, the helpless
rider at times hanging by a single stirrup near the ground, and again
recovering himself by--as it seemed to Clarence--almost superhuman
effort. Clarence sat open-mouthed with anxiety and excitement, and yet
a few of the other teamsters laughed. Then the voice of Mr. Peyton, from
the window of his car, said quietly,--

"There, that will do, Jim. Quit it!"

The furious horse and rider instantly disappeared. A few moments after,
the bewildered Clarence saw the redoubted horseman