Her reply was a toss of the head and a peculiar snorting interjection, “Hngh!” (impossible to be represented by letters,) “it’s all her doin’.”

“But who is she?”

“You’d better ask him.”

Seeing there was nothing to be got out of her, I went down to the stream, washed my face, dried it with my pocket-handkerchief, and then looked after Peck.  He gave a shrill whinny of recognition, and, I thought, seemed to be a little restless.  A fresh feed of corn was in the old basket, and presently the man came into the stable with a bunch of hay, and commenced rubbing off the marks of Peck’s oozy couch which were left on his flanks.  As we went back to the shanty I noticed that he eyed me furtively, without daring to look me full in the face.  As I was apparently none the worse for the night’s experiences, he rallied at last, and ventured to talk at, as well as to, me.

By this time, breakfast, which was a repetition of supper, was ready, and we sat down to the table.  During the meal, it occurred to me to make an experimental remark.  Turning suddenly to the man, I asked,—­

“Is your name Eber Nicholson?”

“There!” exclaimed the woman, “I knowed he’d heerd it!”

He, however, flushing a moment, and then becoming move sallow than ever, nodded first, and then—­as if that were not sufficient—­added, “Yes, that’s my name.”

“Where did you move from?” I continued, falling back on the first plan I had formed in my mind.

“The Western Reserve, not fur from Hudson.”

I turned the conversation on the comparative advantages of Ohio and Illinois, on farming, the price of land, etc., carefully avoiding the dangerous subject, and by the time breakfast was over had arranged, that, for a consideration, he should accompany me as far as the Bloomington road, some five miles distant.

While he went out to catch an old horse, ranging loose in the creek-bottom, I saddled Peck, strapped on my valise, and made myself ready for the journey.  The feeling of two silver half-dollars in her hard palm melted down the woman’s aggressive mood, and she said, with a voice the edge whereof was mightily blunted,—­

“Thankee! it’s too much fur sich as you had.”

“It’s the best you can give,” I replied.

“That’s so!” said she, jerking my hand up and down with a pumping movement, as I took leave.

I felt a sense of relief when we had climbed the rise and had the open prairie again before us.  The sky was overcast and the wind strong, but some rain had fallen during the night, and the clouds had lifted themselves again.  The air was fresh and damp, but not chill.  We rode slowly, of necessity, for the mud was deeper than ever.

I deliberated what course I should take, in order to draw from my guide the explanation of the nightly noises.  His evident shrinking, whenever his wife referred to the subject, convinced me that a gradual approach would render him shy and uneasy; and, on the whole, it seemed best to surprise him by a sudden assault.  Let me strike to the heart of the secret, at once,—­I thought,—­and the details will come of themselves.