The light moved away from the window. Then
another front window opened quiet, and a voice
says:
"Doctor, is that yo' back agin?"
"No," I says, "I ain't a doctor."
"Stay where you are, then. _I_ GOT YOU COVERED."
"I am staying," I says, "don't shoot."
"Who are yo'?"
"A feller," I says, kind of sensing his gun through
the darkness as I spoke, "who has found your
OLD DEAD HOSS in the road."
He didn't answer fur several minutes. Then
he says, using the words DEAD HOSS as Bud had said
he would.
"A DEAD HOSS is fitten fo' nothing but to skin."
"Well," I says, using the words fur the third
time, as instructed, "it is a DEAD HOSS all right."
I hearn the window shut and purty soon the
front door opened.
"Come up here," he says. I come.
"Who rode that hoss yo' been talking about?"
he asts.
"One of the SILENT BRIGADE," I tells him, as Bud
had told me to say. I give him the grip Bud had
showed me with his good hand.
"Come on in," he says.
He shut the door behind us and lighted a lamp
agin. And we looked each other over. He was
a scrawny little feller, with little gray eyes set
near together, and some sandy-complected whiskers
on his chin. I told him about Bud, and what his
fix was.
"Damn it--oh, damn it all," he says, rubbing the
bridge of his nose, "I don't see how on AIRTH I kin
do it.
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