Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. He remained listening attentively. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair.
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