Harry knew that he was inviting risks. His pistols were still useless but they would be handy for threats, and he should be able to take care of himself at a farmhouse.
The house that he had chosen was only a few hundred yards away, its white walls visible among trees, and the clatter of his horse's hoofs brought a man from a barn in the rear. Harry noted him keenly. He was youngish, stalwart and the look out of his blue eyes was fearless. He came forward slowly, examining his visitor, and his manner was not altogether hospitable. Harry decided that he had to deal with a difficult customer but he had no idea of turning back.
"Good morning," he said politely.
"Good morning."
"I wish some breakfast and I will pay. I've ridden all night in our service."
"You've so much dried mud on you that you look as if you'd been passin' through a river."
"Correct. That's exactly what happened."
"But there's none on your horse."
"He didn't pass with me. I'm willing to answer any reasonable number of questions, but, as I told you before, I ride on an important service. I must have breakfast at once, and I'll pay."
"Whose service? Ours or Reb's?"