A man, elderly, but dark and strong, with the high cheek bones of an Indian stood in the door, the light of a fire blazing in the fireplace on the opposite side of the wall throwing him in relief.

His hair was coal black, long and coarse, increasing his resemblance to an Indian.
Dick rode close to the door, and, without hesitation, asked for a night's shelter and food.

This was his inalienable right in the hills or mountains of his state, and he would be a strange man indeed who would refuse it.
The man sharply bade the dogs be silent and they retreated behind the house, their tails drooping.

Then he said to Dick in a tone that was not without hospitality: "'Light, stranger, an' we'll put up your horse.

Mandy will have supper ready by the time we finish the job." Dick sprang down gladly, but staggered a little at first from the stiffness of his legs.
"You've rid far, stranger," said the man, who Dick knew at once had a keen eye and a keen brain, "an' you're young, too." "But not younger than many who have gone to the war," replied Dick.