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"I suppose we might call him a romanticist," said I, "might we not?"

"I give you my word I don't know!" called I as the distance grew between us. "And I give you my word I don't care!" he crowed back as we galloped apart. His speech was two or three words longer, but they are inappropriate at the end of a chapter, and I expurgate.

"Yes, bub," I replied. The two men laughed so explosively that my horse lifted his head austerely.

"Thank you, I couldn't let you take so much trouble--or risk."

"Why, I suppose I'm to find there a road down Cole's Creek to Clifton."

I dilated. "Who told--did Ned Ferry tell you that story?"

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