Mrs. Bungay stood with her back to the fireplace, an iron skillet firmly gripped in one hand. Her face was red with indignation, and there was a look in her eyes, together with a defiant set to her chin, which promised trouble. In front of her, carelessly resting on the table, his feet dangling in the air, was a sturdy-looking fellow of forty or so, with red, straggling beard covering all the lower half of his face, and a weather-worn black hat pulled so low as almost to conceal his eyes. His attire was nondescript, as though he had patronized the junk-shop of both armies. In his belt were thrust a revolver and a knife, while within easy reach of his hand a musket leaned against a chair. Two others of the party, younger men, but even more roughly dressed than their leader, were lounging between him and the door. Bungay chuckled expectantly. “O Lord! if they only git the ol' gal just a little more riled,” he whispered hoarsely, jumping up and down on one foot in his excitement, “they'll hev ther fight of their life.” “Do you know the fellows?” I asked. “Is that Red Lowrie?” He shook his head. “Never laid eyes on any of 'em afore, but ye bet they're no good. Reckon they're a part o' his crowd.” The man who posed as the leader of the party picked up the empty coffee-pot beside him and shook it. “Come, now, Mrs. Bungay,” he commanded, “I tell you we 're hungry, so trot out some hoecake and fill up this pot, unless you want to reckon with Red Lowrie.” The woman stood facing him, yet never moved. I could see a red spot begin to glow in either cheek. If I had ever doubted it, I knew now that Maria possessed a temper of her own. “You ain't no Red Lowrie,” she retorted. The fellow laughed easily. “No more I ain't, old woman, but I reckon we ain't so durn far apart when it comes to getting what we go after. Come, honest now, where is the little white-livered cur that runs this shebang?” Whatever Maria might venture to call her lord and master in the privacy of home, it evidently did not soothe her spirit to hear him thus spoken of by another. “If Jed Bungay wus hum,” she answered fiercely, her eyes fairly blazing, “I reckon you wouldn't be sprawlin' on thet thar table fer long.” “Wouldn't I, now? Well, old hen, we've fooled here with you about as long as I care to. Bill, go over there and put some of that bacon on to fry. If she doesn't get out of the way I'll give her something to jump for.” And he patted the stock of his gun. Instinctively I drew my revolver, and pushed its black muzzle into the light under Jed's nose. “Shall I give him a dose?” I asked eagerly. “Not yit; O Lord, not yit!” he exclaimed, dancing from one foot to the other in excitement. “Let ther ol' gal hev a show. I reckon she's good fer ther whole three of 'em, 'less they shoot.”