So, then, in this thirty-fourth year of the United States, an old man stood on the Beargrass Creek Road, just out of Louisville, and swore volubly. A horseman had spattered him with mud. To his right was a fringe of trees, to his left the mudhole, and just beyond him was a bend in the road.
The old man was only five feet ten, but was thewed like a giant. As he wiped the mud from his cheek and glared at the returning horseman, he displayed a strong, keen-eyed face which sat well above powerful shoulders and barrel-like chest.
"Consarn the lawyers!" he cried angrily. "If I had my way, I'd hang every cussed lawyer in Kaintuck! Hanging's too good for 'em. Consarn 'em, I'd——"
The horseman had reined in at the bend and was now back beside the old man. He was a large athletic man, dressed in fine blue broadcloth, with pudding cravat and ear-high coat collar. He leaned over in his saddle with a smile.
"Sir, your pardon! The offence was unintentional. I take it that you have a grudge against lawyers, eh?"
"Huh!" The other grunted angrily, yet with none of the sputtering fury of old age. His words seemed calculated, in fact. "Huh! Hain't lawyers robbed me right and left an' driv me out o' Kaintuck? You're like all of 'em, consarn ye, slick and smooth! I ain't lived seventy-six year 'thout bein' able to read a man's face. Ye black-hearted Wyandot, why didn't ye turn out o' the way—huh?"
At these final words the horseman went white to the lips. He was handsome, dark of hair and eye, with thin lips, virile features, and powerful hands. Despite the careful attire and courtly air, however, there was an indescribably cruel curve to his thin lips and nostrils, an arrogance in his bearing, which seemed rather out of place in democratic Kentucky.
"Sir, I asked your pardon," he said in a deep voice, twitching his riding-whip against his boot. "In deference to your age I pass over your words——"
"Cuss yer impudence!" broke out the old man hotly, a flame leaping out in his blue eyes. "You're one o' them Louisville vultures, huh? I kin tell. Pass over my words, do ye? Well, ye git down out'n that saddle an' I'll give ye somethin' better to pass over. Hump down, consarn ye—I'll pay out one debt more on yer carcass afore I go back to Missoury!"
The old man did not look his seventy-six years. The wrathful earnestness of his bearing bespoke his entire willingness to chastise the lawyer, while there was a dangerous vitality in his high-browed face. The other gazed down steadily, contempt sitting in his proud dark eyes.