s he
seeks. If the charge account is to remain open until the next crop comes
in, on some rainy day he will transcribe the charge to his day-book.

The clocks of the valley are not controlled by the government's or the
railroads' standard of time. They go by "sun time" and are regulated by
the hour the almanacs say the sun should rise. John Marion winds the
store clock after it has run down and he sets it by no consultation with
anything but his feeling as to what hour of the day it should be.

At least once a week every man who lives in the valley is at the store,
but Saturday is the popular meeting-time. When the chairs and the row of
horseshoe kegs are occupied, the men rest their hands behind them on the
counter and swing to a place of comfort upon it, or they sit upon the
window-sills, keeping well within the range of raillery that welcomes
the coming and speeds the parting guest. It is a good-natured humor that
these mountaineers love, quick as the crack of a rifle and as direct as
its speeding ball. There is never an effort to wound. But always there
is the open challenge to measure resource and wit.

Many a trade in mules that owners have ridden to the store has resulted
from the defense against the mule-wise critics who several times
outnumber the man who rode the mule. If the mount is a newly acquired
one, especial pleasure is found in a seemingly serious pointing out why
any sort of trade was a bad one for that particular animal.

A mule trade is a measure of business capability. No lie is ever told in
answer to a direct question, but no information is relinquished unless a
question is asked. If no hand is passed over the mule's eyes, and there
is no specific inquiry about the eyes before the trade is consummated,
and the animal proves blind in one of them, the fault lies in the
mule-swapping ability of the new owner. Over no question could two men
be seemingly so widely apart as the two when both are anxious to trade.
They are jockeying for that "something to boot" which always makes at
least one participant satisfied in a mountain mule trade.

There are pitfalls for the unwary in the conversations that pass across
the store aisle. Bill Sharpe, who has spent eighty-two summers in the
valley--and the winters, as well--with seeming innocence started a
discussion as to how far a cow-bell could be heard. He sat quietly as
several compared their experiences while hunting cattle in the
mountains. Finally the o