. The select works of Bret Hartte in prose and poetry. his couch of skins in the inner room, Ingomar, the barbarian,snored peacefully. Of course she always found a protector from insult andoutrage in the great courage and strength of her husband ] M Oh yes ; when Ingomar was with her she feared she was nervous, and had been frightened once ! How 1 M They had just arrived in California. They kept housethen, and had to sell liquor to traders. Ingomar washospitable, and drank with everybody, for the sake ofpopularity and business, and Ingomar got to like liquor, andwas easily affected
. The select works of Bret Hartte in prose and poetry. his couch of skins in the inner room, Ingomar, the barbarian,snored peacefully. Of course she always found a protector from insult andoutrage in the great courage and strength of her husband ] M Oh yes ; when Ingomar was with her she feared she was nervous, and had been frightened once ! How 1 M They had just arrived in California. They kept housethen, and had to sell liquor to traders. Ingomar washospitable, and drank with everybody, for the sake ofpopularity and business, and Ingomar got to like liquor, andwas easily affected by it. And how one night there wasa boisterous crowd in the bar-room ; she went in and triedto get him away, but only succeeded in awakening thecoarse gallantry of the half-crazed revellers. And how,when she had at last got him in the room with her frightenedchildren, he sank down on the bed in a stupor, which madeher think the liquor was drugged. And how she sat besidehim all night, and near morning heard a step in the passage, A NIGHT A T ?A hand protruded through the opening as quick as lightning she nailed that hand with her scissors. A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 309 and looking toward the door, saw the latch slowly moving upand down, as if somebody were trying it. And how sheshook her husband, and tried to waken him, but withouteffect. And how at last the door yielded slowly at the top(it was bolted below), as if by a gradual pressure without;and how a hand protruded through the opening. And how,as quick as lightning, she nailed that hand to the wall withher scissors (her only weapon), but the point broke, andsomebody got away with a fearful oath. How she nevertold her husband of it, for fear he would kill that somebody ;but how on one day a stranger called here, and as she washanding him his coffee, she saw a queer triangular scar onthe back of his hand. She was still talking, and the wind was still blowing, andIngomar was still snoring from his couch of skins, whenther
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