A Thousand-Mile Walk 
country, where I was liable to be robbed, and 
perhaps killed. 
“Oh, I am not afraid of any one robbing 
me,” I said, “for I don’t carry anything worth 
stealing.” “Yes,” said he, “but you can’t 
travel without money.” I started to walk on, 
but he blocked my way. Then I noticed that he 
was trembling, and it flashed upon me all at 
once that he was thinking of knocking me down 
in order to robme. After glaring at my pockets 
as if searching for weapons, he stammered in 
a quavering voice, “Do you carry shooting- 
irons?” His motives, which I ought to have 
noted sooner, now were apparent to me. Though 
I had no pistol, I instinctively threw my hand 
back to my pistol pocket and, with my eyes 
fixed on his, I marched up close to him and 
said, “I allow people to find out if I am armed 
or not.’ Then he quailed, stepped aside, and 
allowed me to pass, for fear of being shot. This 
was evidently a narrow escape. 
A few miles farther on I came to a cotton- 
field, to patches of sugar cane carefully fenced, 
[ 104 ] 
