The shifting of the sun had left this corner of the repair shop in shadow, but I was scarcely outstretched in my hastily improvised hiding place, when I heard the blacksmith calmly open his outer door, where he stood smoking, clad in leathern apron, awaiting the approaching horsemen.

They swept about the corner of the smithy almost at the same moment, pulling up their tired horses at sight of him.

From amid the thud of hoofs, and the rattle of accoutrements, a voice spoke sharply: "So you're here, Farrell, you old rebel hypocrite.

Well, what are you hiding now ?" "I was not aware that I had anything to hide, Captain Grant," was the dignified response.

"This is my shop, an' where I should be." "Oh, hell! We all know you well enough, you old fox, and we'll catch you red-handed yet, and hang you.