yo' mammy. Go put yo' hoss in the stable an' come an' live right
here with us."

Jason shook his head and without answer turned his horse down the
creek again. A little way down he saw three Honeycutts coming, all
armed, and he knew that to avoid passing his grandfather's house
they were going to cross the ridge and strike the head of their
own creek. One of them was a boy--"little Aaron"--less than two
years older than himself, and little Aaron not only had a pistol
buckled around him, but carried a Winchester across his saddle-
bow. The two men grinned and nodded good-naturedly to him, but the
boy Aaron pulled his horse across the road and stopped Jason, who
had stood many a taunt from him.

"Which side air you on NOW?" asked Aaron contemptuously.

"You git out o' my road!"

"Hit's my road now," said Aaron, tapping his Winchester, "an' I've
got a great notion o' makin' you git offen that ole bag o' bones
an' dance fer me." One of the Honeycutts turned in his saddle.

"Come on," he shouted angrily, "an' let that boy alone."

"All right," he shouted back, and then to his white, quivering,
helpless quarry:

"I'll let ye off this time, but next time--"

"I'll be ready fer ye," broke in Jason.