“I have come for Colonel Sevier,” he blurted.  And then, his anger rising, “I will have no trifling, ma’am.  He is in this house.”

“La! you don’t tell me,” answered the widow, in a tone that was wholly conversational.

“He is in this house,” shouted the Colonel.

“I reckon you’ve guessed wrong, Colonel,” said the widow.

There was an awkward pause until Tipton heard a titter behind him.  Then his wrath exploded.

“I have a warrant against the scoundrel for high treason,” he cried, “and, by God, I will search the house and serve it.”

Still the widow sat tight.  The Rock of Ages was neither more movable nor calmer than she.

“Surely, Colonel, you would not invade the house of an unprotected female.”

The Colonel, evidently with a great effort, throttled his wrath for the moment.  His new tone was apologetic but firm.

“I regret to have to do so, ma’am,” said he, “but both sexes are equal before the law.”

“The law!” repeated the widow, seemingly tickled at the word.  She smiled indulgently at the Colonel.  “What a pity, Mr. Tipton, that the law compels you to arrest such a good friend of yours as Colonel Sevier.  What self-sacrifice, Colonel Tipton!  What nobility!”

There was a second titter behind him, whereat he swung round quickly, and the crimson veins in his face looked as if they must burst.  He saw me with my hand over my mouth.

“You warned him, damn you!” he shouted, and turning again leaped to the porch and tried to squeeze past the widow into the house.

“How dare you, sir?” she shrieked, giving him a vigorous push backwards.  The four of us, his three men and myself, laughed outright.  Tipton’s rage leaped its bounds.  He returned to the attack again and again, and yet at the crucial moment his courage would fail him and he would let the widow thrust him back.  Suddenly I became aware that there were two new spectators of this comedy.  I started and looked again, and was near to crying out at sight of one of them.  The others did cry out, but Tipton paid no heed.

Ten years had made his figure more portly, but I knew at once the man in the well-fitting hunting shirt, with the long hair flowing to his shoulders, with the keen, dark face and courtly bearing and humorous eyes.  Yes, humorous even now, for he stood, smiling at this comedy played by his enemy, unmindful of his peril.  The widow saw him before Tipton did, so intent was he on the struggle.

“Enough!” she cried, “enough, John Tipton!” Tipton drew back involuntarily, and a smile broadened on the widow’s face.  “Shame on you for doubting a lady’s word!  Allow me to present to you—­Colonel Sevier.”

Tipton turned, stared as a man might who sees a ghost, and broke into such profanity as I have seldom heard.

“By the eternal God, John Sevier,” he shouted, “I’ll hang you to the nearest tree!”