to let them know in the house
what sort of affair is going on. Put the knife down. You know that I
shall not hurt you then."

After hesitating for a moment or two, Lefroy did put the knife down. "I
didn't mean anything, old fellow," said he. "I only wanted to frighten
you."

"Well; you have frightened me. Now, what's to come next?"

"No, I ain't;--not frightened you a bit. A pistol's always better than a
knife any day. Well now, I'll tell ye how it all is." Saying this, he
seated himself on his own bed, and began a long narration. He would not
go further West than Leavenworth. Whether he got his money or whether he
lost it, he would not travel a foot further. There were reasons which
would make it disagreeable for him to go into California. But he made a
proposition. If Peacocke would only give him money enough to support
himself for the necessary time, he would remain at Leavenworth till his
companion should return there, or would make his way to Chicago, and stay
there till Peacocke should come to him. Then he proceeded to explain how
absolute evidence might be obtained at San Francisco as to his brother's
death. "That fellow was lying altogether," he said, "about my brother
dying at the Ogden station. He was very bad there, no doubt, and we
thought it was going to be all up with him. He had the horrors there,
worse than I ever saw before, and I hope never to see the like again. But
we did get him on to San Francisco; and when he was able to walk into the
city on his own legs, I thought that, might be, he would rally and come
round. However, in two days he died;--and we buried him in the big
cemetery just out of the town."

"Did you put a stone over him?"

"Yes; there is a stone as large as life. You'll find the name on
it,--Ferdinand Lefroy of Kilbrack, Louisiana. Kilbrack was the name of
our plantation, where we should be living now as gentlemen ought, with
three hundred niggers of our own, but for these accursed Northern
hypocrites."

"How can I find the stone?"

"There's a chap there who knows, I guess, where all them graves are to be
found. But it's on the right hand, a long way down, near the far wall at
the bottom, just where the ground takes a little dip to the north. It
ain't so long ago but what the letters on the stone will be as fresh as if
they were cut yesterday."

"Does no one in San Francisco know of his death?"

"There's a chap named Burke at Johnson's, the cigar-shop