Yet she was brave and quiet, and said little.
But father grew tired of being dogged, and told us that he was going to Lawrence.

He was gone some time and we did not know where he was.
My little four year old brother George heard much talk of Border Ruffians, and he went around flourishing a long thorn for a dagger, and boasting in childish accent: "Bad Border 'uffians s'an't get my pa.
I hit 'em in 'e eye wid my dagger." One day I was helping uncle drop corn, when George came running to us, much excited.

"I foun' a Border 'uffian! I foun' a Border 'uffian! I hit 'em in 'e eye! I hit 'em in 'e eye!" We ran to see what he had found, and he ran ahead, picking up pebbles as he ran, "to fro at 'e bad Border 'uffian." What do you think he had found?
A mud turtle! And that was his idea of a Border Ruffian.

But he had a chance to see one.

One day, while father was away, two men rode up to the house, whom we knew to be Border Ruffians by their red shirts and the revolvers in their belts.