Colonel Talbot continued to gaze steadily at Shepard, but the Missourian
looked down into his plate. It seemed to Harry that there was some sort
of play between them, or rather a thread of suspicion, a fine thread
in truth, but strong enough to sustain something. He could see, too,
that Colonel Talbot was giving Shepard a warning, a warning, veiled and
vague, but nevertheless a warning. But the boy liked Shepard. His face
seemed to him frank and honest, and he would have trusted him.

They rose presently and went into the lobby, where the colonel evaded
Shepard, as the place was now crowded. More news had come from
Charleston and evidently it was to their liking. There was a great
amount of talk. Many of the older men sprinkled their words with
expressive oaths. The oaths came so naturally that it seemed to be a
habit with them. They chewed tobacco freely, and now and then their
white shirt fronts were stained with it. All those who seemed to be of
prominence wore long black coats, waistcoats cut low, and trousers of
a lighter color.

Near the wall stood a man of heavy build with a great shaggy head and
thick black hair all over his face. He was dressed in a suit of rough
gray jeans, with his trousers stuffed into high boots. He carried in
his right hand a short, thick riding whip, with which he occasionally
switched the tops of his own boots.

Harry spoke to him civilly, after the custom of the time and place.
He took him for a mountaineer, and he judged by the heavy whip he
carried, that he was a horse or cattle trader.

"They talk of Charleston," said Harry.