WITH JEAN DENSLOW
but these were sufficient to divert my attention. The shoulders were broad, Herculean, the head large, massive, crowned by a shaggy mass of iron-gray hair, the eyes looking out from cavernous depths. He must have observed my uniform with the first glance, for he burst out in a gruff, snapping voice,
"What's that Yank doing here?"
My fair guide was by his side in an instant, her hand on his uplifted arm.
"Wait, Judge," she exclaimed hurriedly. "It is all right; he is alone, and has entered on my invitation. This is Lieutenant King, of General Rosecrans's staff."
There was an awkward pause, during which I could hear the heavy breathing of the man, and observe his deep-set eyes wander from me to the face of the girl.
"Oh, indeed," he growled finally; "then I suppose whatever you do I must endorse. You are the first Yankee who ever put foot in my house, sir, and I hope you'll be the last. What do you want?"
She permitted me no opportunity for reply, standing almost directly between us.
"Lieutenant King has a force of men back in the hills hunting after Big Donald. He came here alone, and I volunteered to let him search the house."
"What the dev—"
"Yes," interrupting quickly, "I thought you would prefer having it done by one alone rather than by a lot of rough soldiers. Lieutenant King is a gentleman, and I am sure will be as considerate as possible."
The Judge choked in his throat, his great hands grip-
[ 125 ]
