disappointed and enraged man of the party
was Cockburn. Though less stalwart and
muscular than the colonel, he was full of reckless
impetuosity, and was keenly sensitive to
the imputation of cowardice. It chafed him
to see his friend's tame acquiescence in Colonel
Barwell's insolent dictation, and he would have
been glad to have a brush if his principal had
shown the least disposition to sustain him.

"We shall be laughed out of the world for
this," was his hundred-times repeated consolation
to the downcast bridegroom on the way
home. "Two young men, to let one old fellow
bully them, ride over them roughshod, and
carry off the girl when they had her sure! You
and I could have chawed him up in three
minutes."

"But he was too well armed."

"Never mind his butcher-knife! That isn't
worth shucks when you close in. Give a regular
bear's hug, and a man can't carve you up."

"But I don't want a fight."

"Then what on earth did you go in for?
Don't grip with the devil unless you mean to
use your nails. We go home like a couple of
dogs with their tails between their legs. You
can jump into Green River, or take lodgings in
the Mammoth Cave, but you can't hold up your
head in Barrington. What made you tell him
about that license?"

"Why, you said it was legal."

"So I say now; the girl is your wife. But
you might have kept your mouth shut."

The nearer they came to the town, the more
the dread of ridicule weighed upon Cockburn.
Again and again he repeated:

"We are disgraced—cowed like spaniels—
not worth the powder to blow us up."

"Well, what could I have done?"

"Stood up for your rights, demanded your
wife, showed fight. The old man wouldn't care
to have a ball through his body any more than
you or I. Besides, your wife had nobody to
go to. You didn't show her that you would
protect her, and so you made her give up to
him."

"But it's over now, and I have agreed to
wait three weeks."

"Don't be a spooney, and let the wool be
pulled over your eyes in that way. I tell you
she is your wife, and she showed her disposition
plain enough. Go out to her father's place and
take her!"

Poor Manley was in a sad dilemma. The
shame and mortification of the affair were quite
enough without the stinging taunts of his
companion. He saw how he had been bullied and
swindled, and, but for his word, he would have
risked his life in the attempt to recover his
bride. No man becomes so recklessly brave as
a man of a delicate sensitive cowardly nature,
stung into madness, or turned to bay in despair.

In every town of Kentucky there is a set
of gentlemanly loafers, who in pleasant weather
sit on chairs a-tilt at the street-corners under
the trees, moving round with the shadow the
whole day. When it is cool they congregate
in lawyers' offices, groceries, bar-rooms, the
clerk's office, or wherever their company is
welcome. Quids of tobacco and home-made
cigars are their solace, whittling cedar-sticks
is their ostensible employment, and telling
stories and playing practical jokes their diversion.
Woe to the unlucky wight whose
shortcomings or mistakes bring him under their
notice! Dante never dreamed of worse refinement
of torture than they know how to apply.
Their laughter is worse than a volley, their
jibes are more to be dreaded than a thrust
from a two-inch blade. It is useless for a man
to say that he don't care. They give the cue
to the town, and every face is wreathed in
smiles, every finger is pointed, every voice says,
"Aha!"

No man can face a whole community long.
Into such a nest of hornets came Manley and
Cockburn. Everywhere the ludicrous end of
the elopement was the theme of jeering
conversation. Verses were extemporised upon it,
and were sung by all the idle rascals in town,
black and white. Manley was treated to a
mock serenade; horns were blown, kettles were
beaten; one of the serenaders had a tame crow
which cawed in concert; another led a venerable
goat that bleated when his beard was pulled; for
Manley, it was Pandemonium let loose. The
company had thoughts of bestowing similar delicate
attentions on Cockburn; but the more
prudent remembered his revolver, and thought
it best not to run the risk of being peppered.

Cockburn met Manley next day, and was
surprised to see the change in his face. Though
still pale and thin, his bloodless lips were sharply
compressed, and his eyes, no longer humid and
womanly, shone with a cold steady lustre.

"You see now," said Cockburn, " we might
as well be in the infernal regions. Something
must be clone. We can't kill all these fellows;
they are too many. You have nothing left but
your choice between three things: to run away,
cut your throat, or go and get your wife."

"I will go and get my wife!"

"Good!" exclaimed Cockburn. " I begin to
believe in you."

Their plan was speedily arranged. Cockburn
undertook to engage two or three men to
accompany them. They thought the display of
force would intimidate the colonel into submission.

Strange that any persons could have been
found to go on so desperate an errand. Perhaps.
But what enterprise, however foolhardy,
has ever failed to draw followers from among the
restless spirits of Kentucky? If Molino del
Rey is to be stormed, Kentuckians are the first
to scale the walls. If Buena Vista is to be won
against sevenfold odds, Kentucky rifles and
cavalry are ready. If Lopez needs men to be
garotted or shot in a vain attempt upon Cuba,
or if the little tyrant Walker calls for aid in
establishing a slave-republic in Central America,
Kentuckians are eager to brave fever and vomito,
hunger and thirst, poisonous reptiles and more
deadly semi-savages, all for glory and the love