Squire Bixler, president of the New Pike Road, sat before his wood fire, nodding under the genial warmth the flickering flames threw out across the broad hearth. The weekly town paper, over which he dozed and wakened by turns, now lay on the floor by his chair, having dropped from his relaxed fingers during his latest nap, while his spectacles, gradually slipping forward as his head dropped lower on his tobacco-stained shirt, now finally rested on the tip of his red nose, and threatened to fall each moment.

Short puffs, as if he were still smoking, came at regular intervals from between his thick, partly-opened lips, although his cob pipe had followed his paper to the floor, and the spectacles seemed on the point of speedily joining them.

To the most careless observer it was all too evident that no wifely care was present in the house of Bixler. A motley disorder, revealing many unsightly things, occupied the chimney corners, and encroached upon the hearth. From some nails upon the wall hung a saddle and harness, opposite stretched a line filled with long green tobacco like clothes swung out to dry. The tall mantelshelf was given over to old bottles, cob pipes, and a conglomerate mass of odds and ends of things—the accumulation of many moons, while dust and cobwebs gathered freely over all—a fitting tribute to the absence of womanhood.

It was past the Squire's bedtime. In evidence he had removed his shoes, but seemed to have dropped asleep while looking over his paper, unless he had intentionally delayed his usual hour for retiring.

Suddenly the sharp striking of several small pebbles thrown lightly against the window shutters partly aroused him from his nap, but not until the sound was repeated did he awake sufficiently to give heed to the signal.

Lifting his head with a start, as one who has dropped asleep unwittingly, he adroitly caught his spectacles, with the skill of frequent practice, as they dropped from his nose, then glancing at the clock he got up hastily and went to the window whence the sound seemed to come.

Cautiously raising the sash, that the servants might not be awakened in the ell of the house, the Squire opened one of the shutters carefully and looked furtively out. An interrogation followed, and an answer came from the darkness.

"All right! I'll let you in." The Squire closed shutter and sash, caught up the candle, which was burning low in the socket, and went into the front hall.

When he had unlocked and unbarred the door, a sudden gust of wind blew out the candle's flame as the visitor was admitted, but the fire-light served as a beacon, and while the host was fastening the door the belated visitor passed through the hall into the Squire's sitting room, and walked over to where the fire threw out a grateful warmth over his chilled frame.

"It's keen and frosty out tonight," said the visitor, spreading his hands wide to the blaze.

"I am more interested in other news you may bring," answered the host, setting down the candle, from whose black wick a tiny spiral of smoke arose and floated away into the dim shadows that hovered about the room. The Squire clung to early customs, and would not use a lamp. "An invention of man and the devil," he insisted.

"Well, I've got some news for you this time—some good news," the visitor said, slowly cracking the joints of his fingers as he stood before the fire.

"Let's have it!" insisted the Squire briefly.

"Somethin' you'll be right glad to hear," continued the other, dallying with the subject, as if loth to part with so choice a morsel.

"Well, I'm waiting to hear it," yawning, to call attention to the late hour.

"I'm chilled through an' through," muttered the visitor, apparently unmindful of the Squire's impatience, and giving a shiver, partly genuine, partly affected, as he glanced up at the motley collection of bottles on the chimney shelf. "Don't you keep anything warmin'?" he added, turning to the host.

"Do you want a dram?"

The guest chuckled audibly at the Squire's powers of divination, and with eager eyes followed the portly figure to a small press in the side of the chimney. The host brought forth a bottle and glass, which he placed on the candle stand, and, without further invitation, the guest quickly caught up the bottle and poured the amber liquor into the glass, filling it to the brim. He emptied it at a gulp, then slowly refilled the glass and reluctantly handed back the bottle to the Squire, who reached out impatiently for it.

"That warms me up powerful," said the visitor, draining the glass with evident enjoyment, eyeing the bottle longingly as he spoke, though the Squire did not again offer it. "I felt like an ice house just now."

"Let's do business," the host suggested.

"Well, he's j'ined the night riders."

"When?"

"The night they burned the Cross Roads gate."

"So he had a hand in that deviltry?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it; what else?"

"The raiders air a-goin' to make another raid."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night, I think. I'll find out for certain tomorrow, an' post you. It's court day, you know, an' the word will be passed around among the men when they come to town."

"Where shall I see you?" asked the Squire.

"We mustn't be seen talkin' together," said the visitor thoughtfully. "It might help to fasten suspicion on an innocent man, you see," he added, with a leer of cunning. "I'll tell you what would be a better plan. I'll start back home just at five, by the town clock. I've got a good ways to go, an' likely's not many will be on the road at that hour of the day. You can leave a little earlier than five, an' I'll overtake you about the top of the first hill, under the big elm."

"Very well," agreed the Squire.

"I think I've about earned one hundred of that money already, Squire," suggested the visitor, looking keenly at his companion.

"Won't tomorrow do? This may be a false alarm," objected the Squire.

"No, it isn't; an' besides, I've told you some other things you wanted to know."

"But you're in no particular hurry," the old man insisted, the ruling passion of avarice strong upon him.

"Yes, I'm a-needin' it bad. I've got to have some money early tomorrow, an' I couldn't very well be seen followin' you around on court day. You promised to pay when I brought the word."

"Here, then," said the Squire reluctantly unlocking a small drawer in the base of the tall clock and bringing forth a roll of bills wrapped in a piece of newspaper. "Here's a hundred dollars in small bills. Count them over."

"It's two hundred dollars for givin' information that will lead to the arrest of any of the raiders," said the visitor meditatively, after he had carefully counted the money. "Two hundred's the reward."

"Yes, one hundred tonight, which you have now received, and the other when the raiders have been caught. An extra hundred comes out of my own pocket, you understand, when a certain kinsman of mine is safe behind the jail bars. This is good money, easily made."

"Well, I d'no' as it's so easy when you risk your neck to git it, as I've done."

"What gate do you think they will raid next?" asked the Squire.

"I don't know yet, but I'll be posted by tomorrow evenin'. There's another thing, too, I wanted to say to you," added the visitor impressively. "It's concernin' the safety of a particular friend of mine who belongs to the raiders. I must have your promise not to trap him along with the others."

"How can that be done if he's with the band?"

"Mighty easy. I'll see that he's sent on a little ahead of the others to guard the road in front, and you must give strict orders that no firing is to be done until this one is safely through the gate. When he hears the first shot he can then look out for hisself, an' let the ones behind do the best they can."

"So you want to come out with a whole skin?" said the Squire, with a keen glance at his visitor.

"I didn't say anything about myself; I said a friend."

"All right! I understand. The man in front is to get away, but the rest are to be bagged. You'll give me the full particulars of the proposed raid tomorrow evening, then?" said the Squire, rising from his chair, to signify that the interview was at an end.

"Yes; an' when I come again, you'll have the rest of the money ready for me?"

The Squire nodded.

"Have it in small bills," the visitor suggested. "I can pass 'em easier."

A few minutes later the front door was closed upon the mysterious visitor, and the Squire came back into the room softly rubbing his hands with apparent satisfaction. Indeed, his next words signified as much.

"Ah! my dear nephew!" he cried, gleefully; "before many more nights have passed I think I will have you in a ticklish position where your love affairs will not run as smoothly as you might wish. Then comes my opportunity."