“After what you did to him you can’t expect me and others to say nay
if he takes it out of your hide. Trigging own folks in a regular hoss
dicker comes nearer to being a crime than anything the judge can lay
against you. So you’ve got to simplify matters by getting out of town.
You mustn’t stay here and get hurt, son. Climb, I tell ye!”
So I climbed.
He led me down into a lane and pushed me into a top buggy whose
curtained sides hid me well. He crawled in after me and drove off at a
good dip.
“I have written that letter to my brother,” he said, after a time. “Here
it is.” He put it into my hands. “How much money have you got about
you?”