a man be after doin'? Me boots were on, an' I could not run away an'
climb a tree, so I used them on McArthur."

"Ye're a wild fightin' Irishman with no regard for the Sabbath,"
returned Jim Hutch, sternly. Now Greeley had a fear of what the dour old
Scotchman might tell upon him. It would not pay to lose his Celtic
temper.

"It was to church I was goin'." he growled. "'Twas why I was wearin' me
red-topped high boots."

"Where was church that day, whatever? At the Widow Schmitt's?"

Jimmie squirmed. "You mentioned the beautiful spring, I mind," he
countered deftly. Suddenly Jim Hutch grinned.

"I'll tell ye why. I was gaein' down frae Rattlesnake this afternoon an'
Charlie Price an' his Leezie were out in his bit garden a-plowin'. Mon,
ye could hear him for miles!"

It was even so. Old Charlie Price had decided that it was high time to
put in his vegetable garden. He went out to the lean-to in his corral to
inform Lizzie, the mare, of his intention. Lizzie was always the
unwilling partner of these agricultural peregrinations, and, now she saw
him approaching with the harness, she ran away with much snorting and
scattering of sod.

"Hey, you, Liz," roared Charlie, "you goot-for-not'ing buckskin lummix,
you com mit!" He flourished the halter rope at her. Lizzie flattened her
ears, opened her mouth like a yawning snake, and ran at him. Old Charlie