Even the audacities and insolence of this stranger affected Morse as he might have been touched and captivated by the coquetries or imperiousness of some bucolic virgin.

And this reserved and shy frontiersman found himself that night sleepless, and hovering with an abashed timidity and consciousness around the wagon that sheltered his guest, as if he had been a very Corydon watching the moonlit couch of some slumbering Amaryllis.
He was off by daylight--after having placed a rude breakfast by the side of the still sleeping guest--and before midday he had returned with a horse.

When he handed the stranger his pouch, less the amount he had paid for the horse, the man said curtly: "What's that for ?" "Your change.

I paid only fifty dollars for the horse." The stranger regarded him with his peculiar smile.

Then, replacing the pouch in his belt, he shook Morse's hand again and mounted the horse.
"So your name's Martin Morse! Well--goodby, Morsey!" Morse hesitated.