e, it's jest this way, Westerfelt," he began, with an
effort. "I've bought this blamed hoss frum Bill Stone an' I want to
leave 'im heer with you. I want you to put 'im through any sort o'
work you see fit; he's too blam' fat an' frisky anyhow."

Westerfelt comprehended the whole situation, but he did not want to
accept the horse. "Why, Mr. Hunter, really--" he began.

"Oh, we'll take yore hoss," laughed Washburn. "We kin take the kinks
out'n his mane an' tail an' make 'im wish he never wus born. Oh,
Lordy, yes, we want 'im, an' ef you've got a good saddle an' bridle ur
a buggy hustle 'em around."

"Well, you'd better 'tend to 'im." Hunter tossed the halter to
Washburn. "I'll be blamed ef I want 'im." And he turned and without
another word walked away.

"It's wuth three o' the one they shot," was Washburn's laconic
observation. He looked the animal over admiringly and slapped him so
vigorously under the belly that the horse grunted and humped his back.

Cartwright, like nearly every other Georgian village, had its lawyer.
Bascom Bates was a young man of not more than thirty, but he was
accounted shrewd by many older legal heads, who had been said to have
advised him to move to a larger place. When business did not come to
his office, Bates sometimes went after it. If a woman lost a husband
in a railway wreck or was knocked off the track where he had no right
to be, Bates called as early as possible and offered to direct a suit
against the corporation for damages at half the usual price--that is,
as Bill Stone once put it, the widow got half and Bates half, which
nobody seemed to think exorbitant, because it cost a lawyer a good deal
to get his education, and court convened but twice a year. He was
among the first to call on Westerfelt that morning, and with a
mysterious nod and crooking of his fingers in the air he induced the
young man to follow him into one of the vacant stalls in the back part
of the long building.

"Thar's something that has jest struck me, Westerfelt," he began, in
the low voice of an electioneering candidate, and he possessed himself
of one of Westerfelt's lapels and began to rub his thick, red fingers
over it. "I wouldn't have you mention me in the matter, for really I
hain't got a thing ag'in any of these mountain men, but I thought I'd
say to you as a friend that this is a damageable case. Them men could
be handled for what they done last night, and made to sweat for
it--sw