ntlemen now go to law in adjusting their differences?"

Uncle Zack stood a moment looking at the rifle, apparently in
retrospective reverie. Finally he observed:

"I spec dat's right. Dey may 'just dey diff'ences wid deyse'ves
dat-a-way, but dey sholy make 'em 'parrent to de neighbors. In de ole
days, a gemmen say to a gemmen: 'Yoh fence is too fur on mah line, sah!'
An' de gemmen answer back: ''Tain' no sich a-thing, sah!' So dey frien's
come by in de mawnin', an' has a julep, an' slips out de back way; an'
dat evenin' de neighbors is all sayin': 'Too bad! Bofe sich fine
gemmen!' Nowdays," he concluded, "dey go to cou't wid dey diff'ences,
an' when it's all over de neighbors say: 'My! Who'd ever thought dem men
wuz sich skallawags!' De cou'ts may be all right in dey way, Marse Bob,
but dey suttenly do strip a man of his se'f respec'."

The Colonel came out drawing on his gloves. He made a striking figure in
his riding togs. Tall, dignified, careful of address and slow of
movement--though not the slowness of embonpoint--he would have attracted
attention anywhere. Years had added no roundness to his frame. His nose
was aquiline, perhaps a trifle too fine in lines; and his mouth might
have been too large if uncovered by a silvery white mustache, whose
training bespoke a minute, an almost effeminate, care. Now he looked
every inch a gentleman going for a morning canter, except for the
compact, high-powered rifle resting easily in the hollow of his arm.

"Zack," he cautioned, "when Miss Liz comes down, merely say that Mr.
Robert and I are riding."

"Lor', Marse John, she ain' gwine know nuthin' 'bout it. She's jest lak
yoh mammy dat-a-way; never 'spectin' folks to git in no devilment."

"What do you mean, you black rascal," the Colonel thundered.

Zack rolled his eyes from the old gentleman's face to his rifle, and
back again. Then his own face disappeared into a multitude of wrinkles
while he silently chuckled.

"You-alls jest as pure as de Heaven's blue," he murmured, holding his
sides and shaking. "Reckon I'd better git mah coat!"

"Oh, no, Zack," the Colonel stopped him. "You must stay here."

"Marse John," the old darky approached with a troubled look, "you never
used to go on dese heah trips widout Zack! Ain' you gwine take 'im
'long? Dar ain' no one else is got de knack of holdin' you up ef you
gits stung some, an' you knows it, Marse John!"

He stood in an humble attitude of pleading, looking up at his wh