“Thar it is!” said he, striking an attitude and clapping a hand on his breast, like a man who felt his honour unjustly assailed.  “Steal! I steal any horse but an Injun’s!  Whar’s the man dar’s insinivate that?  Blood and massacree-ation! whar’s the man?”

“H’yar,” said Bruce, very composedly.  “I know that old mar’ belongs to Peter Harper, on the north side.”

“You’re right, by Hooky!” cried Roaring Ralph; at which seeming admission of his knavery the merriment of the spectators was greatly increased; nor was it much lessened when the fellow proceeded to aver that he had borrowed it, and that with the express stipulation that it should be left at Bruce’s Station, subject to the orders of its owner.  “Thar, cunnel,” said he, “thar’s the beast; take it; and just tell me whar’s the one you mean to lend me,—­for I must be oft afore sunset.”

“And whar are you going?” demanded Bruce.

“To St. Asaphis,”—­which was a Station some twenty or thirty miles off,—­replied Captain Stackpole.

“Too far for the Regulators to follow, Ralph,” said Colonel Bruce; at which the young men present laughed louder than ever, and eyed the visitor in a way that seemed both to disconcert and offend him.

“Cunnel,” said he, “you’re a man in authority, and my superior officer; wharfo’ thar’ can be no scalping between us.  But my name’s Tom Dowdle, the ragman!” he screamed, suddenly skipping into the thickest of the throng, and sounding a note of defiance; “my name’s Tom Dowdle, the ragman, and I’m for any man that insults me! log-leg or leather-breeches, green-shirt or blanket-coat, land-trotter or river-roller,—­I’m the man for a massacree!” Then giving himself a twirl upon his foot that would have done credit to a dancing-master, he proceeded to other antic demonstrations of hostility, which when performed in after years on the banks of the Lower Mississippi, by himself and his worthy imitators, were, we suspect, the cause of their receiving the name of the mighty alligator.  It is said, by naturalists, of this monstrous reptile, that he delights, when the returning warmth of spring has brought his fellows from their holes, and placed them basking along the banks of a swampy lagoon, to dart into the centre of the expanse, and challenge the whole field to combat.  He roars, he blows the water from his nostrils, he lashes it with his tail, he whirls round and round, churning the water into foam; until, having worked himself into a proper fury, he darts back again to the shore, to seek an antagonist.  Had the gallant captain of horse-thieves boasted the blood, as he afterwards did the name, of an “alligator half-breed,” he could have scarce conducted himself in a way more worthy of his parentage.  He leaped into the centre of the throng, where, having found elbow-room for his purpose, he performed the gyration mentioned before, following it up by other feats expressive of his hostile humour.  He flapped his wings and crowed, until every chanticleer