'No, I didn't graduate, I _left_--left for my health. Ha! ha I' and he broke into a merry fit of laughter, in which several of his companions joined. 'Taken with sudden illness, as you were at the turkey-match, to-day?' I inquired good humoredly, and in a tone that could not give offence. 'Yes, the same disease, I swear. Ha! ha!' 'Ha! ha!' echoed his companions, 'The stranger's inter ye, Gus--inter ye a feet! Come, ye must treat,' shouted the teller of the horse story. This last individual was tall, raw-boned, and squarely built, with broad, heavy features, and dull, cold, snake-like eyes. His black, unkempt hair, and long, wiry beard, fell round his face like tow round a mop handle, and his coarse linsey clothes, patched in many places, and smeared with tar and tobacco juice, fitted him as a shirt might fit a bean pole. The legs of his pantaloons were thrust inside of his boots, and he wore a fuzzy woollen hat with battered crown and a broad flapping brim. He looked the very picture of an ex-overseer under a cloud, or an itinerant sporting man, anxious for something to turn up. I declined the proffered drink, but the company rose and approached the counter, while the young planter bade the bartender, who had just reëntered, 'trot out the consolation.' 'Down with the pewter, then, Mr. Gaston,' said the liquor vender. 'No pay, no drinks, is the rule in this yere shanty.' The young man tossed him a half-eagle. His companions proceeded to imbibe a variety of compounds, while he poured out nearly a glass full of raw whiskey, and drank it down at a swallow. As he replaced the glass on the counter, a slatternly negro woman thrust her head in at the doorway, saying: 'Dar's a 'ooman heah; a wite 'ooman, dat am 'ticler anxyus fur de honor of Mister Mulock's 'quaintance. She'm in de sittin' room.' 'Thar's a call fur you, Bony,' said the young planter to the story teller; 'some young woman with designs on your landed possessions; ha! ha!' Without replying, the other followed the serving woman from the room. He was the absconding polygamist for whom the tobacco-chewing female had ventured all the way from Chalk-Leod. 'Is supper ready, sir?' I asked of the bartender. 'Supper? I reckon so. Ye'd better go and see,' was the civil reply. 'Where's the dining room?' 'Over thar--'tother side the hall.' Passing out of the room, I met Preston, and we proceeded together to the supper table. When we were seated, I remarked: 'By the way, I have just seen the husband of our stage coach acquaintance. He's a rum-looking customer.' 'Yes, I suppose he has taken to drinking again. The whipping and the loss of Phylly have probably worked on him.' 'You don't mean to say _he_ is Phylly's husband?' 'Yes, didn't I tell you?' 'No. Two wives under one roof! Well, that's more than most white men can afford.' 'That's a fact. It's an awkward business; what had better be done?'