"His name ain't Marney, an' 'tain't James, neither. He's a no 'count
cousin o' mine, an' his name's Bill Tewks. An' he never had no right
of any sort or kind to the colt. The colt's mine, an' never was any
one else's, an' I can prove it by these two men, an' one of 'em's
depitty sheriff of our county, an' he's got a warrant for Bill's arrest
for stealin' the hoss. My name's James Marney; I can prove it by any
storekeeper in this town, or by Doc Taggess, or your county clerk, or--"
"I'll take your word for it," Philip said hastily, for the thought of
exposing a second business blunder to the county clerk in a single
day--a single hour, indeed--was unendurable.
"I don't see," continued the claimant of the horse, looking greatly
aggrieved, "how a man buys one man's hoss off of another man anyway,
leastways of a no 'count shack like Bill Tewks."
"Perhaps not," said Philip, "but I may be able to enlighten you. Do you
know a man named Caleb Wright?"
"Know Caleb? Who don't? That ain't all; he's the honestest man I ever
_did_ know. I wish he was here right now, instead of off to York, as
your wife says, for he knows me an' he knows the hoss. Why, a spell
ago, not long after old Jethro died, an' I needed some money pooty bad,
I writ to Caleb an' ast him what he could git me in cash for the colt,
here in town, prices of hosses here bein' some better'n what they be
in our county, where there ain't never city buyers lookin' aroun', and
Caleb writ back that--"
"One moment, please," said Philip. "He wrote that any one ought to be
glad to give you seventy-five dollars, but that you would be foolish
to sell, because you could get far more a year later, but that if you
really must sell, he wished you would give me the first chance."