, as he called it, and in trying in his turn to wipe off some
old score, as any countryman. He seemed, to the young man, to have
little burrows like some desperate animal, into which he could dive, and
be completely away from his enemies, and even from himself, when he
chose.

He hurriedly drank the remainder of his coffee, and was in his office
getting his medicine-case ready. James lingered, in the hopes of
getting a word and a kiss from Clemency. But the child, the moment her
uncle went out, fled. It was odd. She wanted to stay and have a minute
with James alone more than she had ever wanted anything, but it was for
just that very reason that she ran away.

James felt hurt. At that time, the mind of a girl, and its shy workings,
were entirely beyond his comprehension. He saw no earthly reason why
Clemency should have avoided him. He followed Gordon with rather a
downcast face into the office, and begun assisting him with his
medicines. Gordon himself was too full of interest in the horse trade to
remark anything. At times he chuckled to himself. Now and then he would
burst out anew in a great peal of laughter. "Hang it all! I don't like
to be done any better than any other man, but that little red-haired
scamp was clever and no mistake," he said, "showing me that little sore.
I believe he had sandpapered the poor beast on purpose. He took me in as
neatly as I ever saw anything done in my life. Well, Elliot, you wait
and see me get even with Sam Tucker. I have been waiting my chance.
About two years ago he worked me, and not half as cleverly as this
either. He made me feel that I was a fool. The red-haired one needed the
devil himself to get round him, and see through his little game. Sam
Tucker sold me, or rather traded with me a veritable fiend of a horse
for an old mare. The mare was old, but she had a lot of go in her, and
was sound, and the other, well, Sam had bought him for a song, because
nobody would drive him, and he had killed two men. He was a white horse
with as wicked an eye as you ever saw, and ears always cocked for
mischief, like the arch fiend's horns. Well, Sam, he made some kind of a
dye, and he actually dyed that animal a beautiful chestnut, and traded
him for my old mare. I even paid a little to boot. Well, next morning I
sent Aaron down to the store in a soaking rain, and the horse bolted at
a white rock beside the road, and the buggy was knocked into kindling
wood. Aaron wasn't hurt. He always