tall man from the corner of
his eye.

A man, very drunk, was standing by the bar, and telling how, in coming
to town, he had seen a buggy drive away from the Maurice home very
fast. He had thought it was the doctor's buggy and had stopped in to
see if any one was sick.

The fellow had grinned here and drank some more, before finishing the
story; the surrounding audience winking at each other meanwhile, and
drinking in company.

Then he went on to tell how Camilla Maurice had sat just inside the
doorway, her face in her hands, sobbing,--so hard she hadn't noticed
him; and--and--it wasn't the doctor who had been there at all!

Ichabod had been holding a pail of water so that a horse might drink.
At the end he motioned Ole very quietly, to take his place.

"Finish watering them, and--wait for me, please."

It was far from what the Swede had expected; but he accepted the task,
obediently.

The only saloon of the town stood almost exactly opposite Hans
Becher's place, flush with the street. A long, low building,
communicating with the outer world by one door--sans glass--its single
window in front and at the rear lit it but imperfectly at midday, and
now at early evening made faces almost indistinguishable, and cast
kindly shadow over the fly specks and smoke stains of a low roof. A
narrow pine bar, redolent of tribute absorbed from innumerable passing
"schooners," stretched the entire length of the room at one side; and
back of it, in shirt sleeves and stained apron, presided the typical
bar-keeper of the frontier. All this Ichabod saw as he stepped inside;
then, himself in shadow, he studied the group before him.

Railroad and cattle men, mostly, made up the gathering, with a scant
sprinkling of farmers and others unclassified. A big, ill-dressed
fellow was repeating the tale of scandal for the benefit of a
newcomer; the narrative moving jerkily over hiccoughs, like hurdles.

"--I drew up to th' house quick, an' went up th' path quiet
like,"--he tapped thunderously on the bar with a heavy glass for
silence--"quiet--sh-h--like; an' when I come t' th' door, ther' 't
was open, an'--as I hope--hope t' die,... drink on me, b'ys, aller
y'--set 'm up, Barney ol' b'y, m' treat,... hope t' die, ther' she
sat, like this--" He looked around mistily for a chair, but none was
convenient, and he slid flat to the floor in their midst, his face
in his hands, blubbering dismally in imitation.... "Sat (hic) like
this; rockin' an