I come to think on't afterward," said David with a half laugh, "it mebbe
wa'n't _gospel_ truth, but it was good enough _jury_ truth. I guess this
ain't over 'n' above interestin' to ye, is it?" he asked after a pause,
looking doubtfully at his sister.

"Yes, 'tis," she asserted. "I'm lookin' forrered to where the deakin
comes in, but you jest tell it your own way."

"I'll git there all in good time," said David, "but some of the point of
the story'll be lost if I don't tell ye what come fust."

"I allow to stan' it 's long 's you can," she said encouragingly,
"seein' what work I had gettin' ye started. Did ye find out anythin'
'bout them fellers?"

"I ast the barn man if he knowed who they was, an' he said he never seen
'em till the yestiddy before, an' didn't know 'em f'm Adam. They come
along with a couple of hosses, one drivin' an' t'other leadin'--the one
I bought. I ast him if they knowed who I was, an' he said one on 'em
ast him, an' he told him. The feller said to him, seein' me drive up:
'That's a putty likely-lookin' hoss. Who's drivin' him?' An' he says to
the feller: 'That's Dave Harum, f'm over to Homeville. He's a great
feller fer hosses,' he says."

"Dave," said Mrs. Bixbee, "them chaps jest laid fer ye, didn't they?"

"I reckon they did," he admitted; "an' they was as slick a pair as was
ever drawed to," which expression was lost upon his sister. David rubbed
the fringe of yellowish-gray hair which encircled his bald pate for a
moment.