be darned if I wouldn't blow in this
verdammter door."

"The old man's coming, I hear him
shuffling," I said, listening. "Have a little
patience, Rabenstein; the old couple are
deaf, you know. It is our interest to keep
them civil. Doucement, mon garçon,
doucement."

"You are too civil to them by half, cap,"
said my young lieutenant; "I don't
like these darned Rebs, and I wouldn't
trust them an inch from mein nose."
(Then he turned and looked regretfully up
the road.) "Ja, and there go our brave
Husaren immer forwärts. Ach, mein
Gott!"

"I hear him shuffling," I said, listening
at the keyhole.

"Shuffle, shuffle—that's what all the
darned Rebs do. Here, open thou the door,
old fool!" and he shouted loud enough to
wake the Seven Sleepers.

"Why, I declare I hear a horse's hoofs,"
I said, listening again.

"That's some Reb trick—get your pistol
out, cap. They've got some one hidden
there." From the very beginning we had
both entertained a strange suspicion of the
place.

At that moment the door of the farm-
house flew open, and a rough-looking man
in a workman's dress came out, leading a
horse. He had saddle-bags very full of
something, he carried a pistol in his belt,
and a horn was slung round him. He
scowled at us as he leaped on his horse.

"What have you in those bags?" said
Rabenstein.

"What's that to you, Dutchman?" said
the man, looking down at his pistols in what
I almost thought was a menacing manner.
"Who chose you president of these
regions?" And as he said this he struck
spurs in his horse, blew his horn loudly,
and dashed down the road leading to
Penaquoddy.

"A Reb, a verdammter Reb, as sure as
a pig likes peaches; but what could I do?"
said Rabenstein. "I couldn't stop him
without my six-shooter; ach für meine
tapfre Husaren!"

Just then the farmer, a low-looking,
sour old man, with a week's beard on
his chin, came past us, and shielding his
eyes from the sun, stood staring down the
road.

"Who are you looking for?" I said:
"are you expecting anybody?"

The old man's eyes twinkled with sly
malice as he turned slowly round and
replied, "Looking to see if my friends are
coming."

"Darn him, he means the Rebs; we
shall be cut into mincemeat," said Rabenstein.
"Now, look here, old skunk," he
said, turning sharp on the astonished old
man. and laying his rough brown hand on
his shoulder, "we are officers of the United
States army, and we insist on knowing
who that man was who has just on a big
bony horse trotted off so schnell?"

"That man with the saddle-bags?"

"Yes."

"That smart fellow with the brown coat
and blue-peaked cap?"

"Yes, old coon."

"What he that blew the horn?"

"Yes."

"What the fellow who came out just before me?"

"Yes, yes, old Dickerkopf; come, no
more sliding about—answer."

"That? Why that's the Penaquoddy
postman," said the old man, exploding in a
cackling vexatious laugh; "Wal! I reckon
you are the queerest Dutchman I ever saw
in these parts."

"What, and carries pistols?"

"Yes, 'bliged; the roads are so full now
with these all-fired thieves, who pretend
to belong to your army, and do nothing
but rob, and steal, and molest honest people
—hang them!"

"Look here, old cuss," said Rabenstein,
"you keep a civil tongue in your old
shaky head, or I'll send for a guard of
meine tapfre Husaren, meine wilde jäger,
and have an eighteen-pound shot tied to
your leg. Put a handle to my name, if
you please; my name is Lieutenant
Rabenstein."

I somehow caught the infection from
Rabenstein, and began to regard the old
couple with extreme suspicion.

That night when we went to bed (we
slept in the same room) Rabenstein broke
out again. All at once he limped out of
bed.

"Storm and wetter," said he. " Cap,
I can't sleep here, nohow. No, nohow I
can't fix it. There's some mischief up;
that old coon is too silent. Look at these
verdammter cans (here he kicked a row of
cans at one end of the room) who knows
what they are, perhaps nitro-glycerine, or
picrate of potash, or some verdammter
thing to burn and blow us to the moon.
Then look at this big cupboard here by my
bed, of course locked by the Seven Sleepers
of Cordova, who knows what it is—suppose