“And that night Pole was so drunk that the marshal started to lock him up, but the gang stood to him. They put him to bed up-stairs in the bridal-chamber, and sat around him till morning, singing battle-songs and raising the devil generally.” “I see him coming now, Mr. Mayhew,” said the clerk. “Captain, he walks steady enough. I reckon he'll take you through safe.” The tall countryman, about thirty-five years of age, without a coat, his coarse cotton shirt open at the neck, a slouched hat on his massive head and his tattered trousers stuffed into the tops of his high boots, came in. He wore a brown, sweeping mustache, and his eyebrows were unusually heavy. On the heel of his right boot he wore an old riding spur, very loosely strapped. “How are you, Captain Duncan?” he said to the planter, as he extended his brawny hand. “You've come back to God's country, heigh?” “Yes, Baker,” the planter returned, with a genial smile. “I had to see what sort of chance you fellows stand for a crop this year. I understand Lawson sent you over for me and my baggage. I'm certainly glad he engaged a man about whom I have heard such good reports.” “Well, I don't know about _that_, captain,” said Pole, his bushy brows meeting in a frown of displeasure, and his dark eyes flashing. “I don't know as I'm runnin' a hack-line, or totin' trunks about fer the upper-ten set of humanity. I'm a farmer _myself_, in a sort of way--smaller'n you are, but a farmer. I was comin' this way yesterday, and was about to take my own hoss out of the field, where he had plenty to do, when Lawson said: 'Baker, bein' as you are goin' to make the trip _anyways_, I'd feel under obligations ef you'd take my rig and fetch Captain Duncan back when you come.' By gum, to tell you the truth, I've just come in to say to you, old hoss, that ef you are ready right now, we'll ride out together; ef not, I'll leave yore rig and go out with Nathan Porter. I say engaged! I'm not goin' to get any money out o' this job.” “Oh, I meant no offence at all, Baker,” said the planter, in no little embarrassment, for the group was smiling. “Well, I reckon you didn't,” said Pole, slightly mollified, “but it's always a good idea fer two men to know exactly where they stand, and I'm here to say I don't take off my hat to no man on earth. The only man I'd bow down to died two thousand years ago.” “That's the right spirit,” Duncan said, admiringly. “Now, I'm ready if you are, and it's time we were on the move. Those two valises are mine, and that big overcoat tied in a bundle.” “Here, Charlie!” Pole called out to the porter, “put them things o' Duncan's in the back end o' the buggy an' I'll throw you a dime the next time I'm in town.” “All right, boss,” the mulatto said, with a knowing wink and smile at Mayhew. “They'll be in by the time you get there.” While the planter was at the counter saying goodbye to the clerk, Pole looked down at Mayhew. “When are _you_ goin' out?” he asked.