“'Dat 's a bad feller!' the negro insisted, uneasily, his voice kept in an undertone. 'You got to watch him. I'se knowed him from a boy.'
“He added something else in a whisper which I did not catch.
“'All right; certainly not! Much obliged to you, Dick. I 'll keep my eyes open. Goodnight.'
“'Good-night, gent'men'; and the negro fell back and began to talk with the nearest of his companions effusively.
“'Who is that?' I asked, for the man had kept his hat over his eyes.
“'That 's Dick Winchester. You remember that old fellow 't used to belong to old Mr. Eaton—lived down in the pines back o' me, on the creek 't runs near my place. His wife died the year of the big snow.'
“It was not necessary for him to explain further. I remembered the negro for whom Hal-loway had ridden through the storm that night.
“I asked Halloway somewhat irrelevantly, if he carried a pistol. He said no, he had never done so.
“'Fact is, I 'm afraid of killin' somebody. And I don't want to do that, I know. Never could bear to shoot my gun even durin' o' the war, though I shot her 'bout as often as any of 'em, I reckon—always used to shut my eyes right tight whenever I pulled the trigger. I reckon I was a mighty pore soldier,' he laughed. I had heard that he was one of the best in the army.
“'Besides, I always feel sort o' cowardly if I 've got a pistol on. Looks like I was afraid of somebody—an' I ain't. I 've noticed if two fellows have pistols on and git to fightin', mighty apt to one git hurt, maybe both. Sort o' like two dogs growling—long as don't but one of 'em growl it's all right. If don't but one have a pistol, t' other feller always has the advantage and sort o' comes out top, while the man with the pistol looks mean.'