the
Crowes', the Sissons', and the Ewings' I found that the spears had been
beaten into plowshares and the swords into pruning-hooks. I felt that
it would be folly to apply at the Tiltmans', for Jack Tiltman is the
mildest man in seven States, and he is descended from a line of Quakers
religiously opposed to war and strife. However, meeting with Tiltman,
I ventured to confide to him the dilemma I was in, and I was surprised
when he told me that he could provide me with any kind or size of
revolver I wanted. Presently he brought out of his house a machine
which, had he not assured me to the contrary, I should at first sight
have mistaken for a one-inch aperture telescope.

"Is it loaded?" I asked.

"Yes, seven times," said he.

"And will it go off seven times all at once?" said I.

"Once will be enough," said he; and then he added that the bore was so
large that if the bullet once struck a man it would let daylight clean
through him, even in the night time.

You can well understand that, by the time the carpenter was equipped
for defensive operations, the whole neighborhood was worked up to a
condition of great excitement. The children were enthusiastic over the
prospect of bloodshed, and from the chatter that was indulged in by
these innocents you might have supposed that a murderous tramp lurked
at every corner. Alice and I walked over to the Schmittheimer place
with the carpenter, and we were accompanied by several of our neighbors
and their offspring. The evening was now advanced to the degree of
darkness, and our heated fancies transformed every shadow into a living
creature. Little Annie Ewing was on the verge of hysterics and
declared she saw things behind every tree and stump, and Mr. Denslow
contributed to the general excitement by recalling that he had read
that very day of several mysterious murders down in a remote corner of
Arizona by unknown tramps.

I admit that I, too, was much perturbed. I contemplated with
indignation the lawless impudence of the fellow who had broken into our
barn, and who had subsequently threatened violence to the carpenter for
expostulating against this act of trespass. At the same time I could
not stifle a feeling of pity for the homeless being who doubtless found
the bed upon our barn floor as grateful as the downy couch of a Persian
potentate. Nor could I stifle the conviction that it was a piece of
miserable greediness on my part to deny this friendless and penn