FARMER WEEFER and his wife appeared at the store early on the morning after the deal in walnut land, and the farmer said:—

"Well, want to back out o' the trade?"

"Did you ever hear of me backing out of anything, Mr. Weefer?"

"Can't say I did, but I alluz b'lieve in givin' a man a chance so he can't have no excuse for grumblin' afterwards. Well, we come in early, so's to git our stuff an' git out 'fore a lot of other customers comes in. My wife, she thinks she ort to have some little present or other, as a satisfaction piece for signin' the deed, it bein' the custom in these parts."

"All right, Mrs. Weefer," said Philip, who had heard of several real estate transactions being hampered by refractory wives, and who thought he saw a good opportunity to prevent any troubles of that kind befalling him in the future, "I think I have some silk dress goods that will please you."

Silk dress goods! No such "satisfaction piece" had ever been heard of in Claybanks or vicinity. Mrs. Weefer saw the goods, accepted it in haste, and did her subsequent trading so rapidly that she and her husband and their two hundred dollars' worth of goods were on the way to the Weefer farm within an hour, and Philip, with the new deed of the "wannut land," was at the County Clerk's office.

"Yes," said the clerk, scrutinizing the paper through his very convex glasses. "My son told me you were in yesterday, inquiring about this. Oh, yes, this property is all clear; there was no reason why any one should lend on it."

"No reason? Why, Squire, what's the matter with good standing black walnut as security?"

"Nothing at all, but I thought all the walnut on Weefer's ground had been cut."

"Not unless 'twas done since yesterday afternoon."

The official removed his glasses, leaned back in his chair, put both feet upon his desk, and looked so long and provokingly at Philip that the latter said:—

"Has it been cut over-night?"

"Oh, no. Take a chair. Are you sure that you saw this property?"

"Entirely sure, unless I was dreaming by daylight. He and I rode over it. I was brought up in the West, so I know walnut trees when I see them."

"Of course, but—did you make sure of the line-marks—the boundaries?"

"Yes. That is, he showed me two blazed trees, which he said marked his line."

"Just so. Did he say which side of the line his own property was?"

"Yes—no—that is, he took me over a lot of ground that contained many fine large walnut trees. See here, Squire, have I been swindled?"

"That depends. Weefer is about as smart as they make 'em, so I don't think he'd be fool enough to swindle any one—not, at least, so that the law could take hold of him. Did he say the land he showed you was his? Tell me exactly what he said; for if he over-reached himself, my old law partner would like to handle the case for you. To win a case against Weefer would be a great feather in his cap. The fact is that all the walnut on Weefer's land consists of stumps, for the trees were cut off two or three years ago. There's a fine lot of standing walnut adjoining it, but it belongs to Doctor Taggess."

"Then I am swindled."

"I hope so—that is, I hope, for the sake of our old firm, which I'll have to go back into if I'm not reËlected, that you've a good case against Weefer. Now tell me—carefully—exactly what he said. Did he say that Taggess's land was his?"

"No—o—o," said Philip, after a moment of thought, "I can't say that he did. We rode out there on horseback, stopped at the edge of some wooded ground, and he said, 'Did you ever see finer walnut land than that?' Those were his very words—I'll swear to them—the old scoundrel!"

"Quite likely, but did he say that those trees—that land—was his?"

"No; not in so many words, but he certainly gave me that impression."

"With what exact words?" Again Philip searched his memory, but was compelled to reply:—

"With no words that I can recall. He talked rapturously about the beauty of a lot of walnut trees, from the money point of view."

"But didn't say, in any way, that they belonged to him?"

"Confound him, no! But he handed me a deed—"

"That's no evidence, unless it was Taggess's deed he showed you, which evidently it wasn't. Well, Mr. Somerton, you've got no case. Morally 'twas a swindle—not a new one, either. He wouldn't have tried it on you if Caleb hadn't been away; for Caleb knows the lay and condition of every tract of land in this county—just as you'll know when you've been here long enough. You've bought forty acres that won't bring you anything but taxes, unless you can find some use for walnut stumps—and they're harder to get out than any other kind but oak, unless some day the land-owners along the creek combine to put up a levee that'll prevent overflow, so that the land can be farmed, but even then the stumps will be a nuisance. Hope you got it cheap."

"Five dollars an acre," Philip growled.

"Cash?"

"No; trade."

"Trade, eh? Well, that's not so bad, though it's bad enough." The old man's eyes twinkled, for what man of affairs is there who does not enjoy the details of a smart trade—at some other man's expense? Philip noticed the clerk's amused expression and frowned; the clerk quickly continued, "Let me give you some professional advice—no charge for it. Keep entirely quiet about this affair; you may be sure that Weefer won't talk until you do. If the story gets out, you'll never hear the end of it, and 'twon't do your reputation as a business man any good. We don't publish records of transfers in this county, and of course I won't mention it, and I'll see that my son doesn't either; he's the only other man who has access to the books."

"Thank you very much, Squire. You may count on my vote and influence if you're renominated."

"Much obliged. Whew! Five dollars an acre for a lot of walnut stumps!"

"Five dollars an acre, and a silk dress for Mrs. Weefer's waiver of dower-right," said Philip, so humiliated that he wished to make his confession complete.

"What? Well, Weefer won't talk, but whether he can harness his wife's tongue when she's ready to show off that silk dress is another matter."

Philip started to go, and the clerk made haste to hide his face behind the deed, and silently chuckle himself towards a fit of apoplexy.

"You're absolutely sure that I've no way out of it?" Philip said, pausing for an instant.

"Absolutely," the clerk replied, with some difficulty, his face still behind the deed, "unless—you can find—a market—for—walnut stumps." Then the clerk coughed alarmingly, and Philip pulled his hat over his eyes and hurried away, with a consuming desire to mount his horse, overtake Weefer, shoot him to death, recover the wagon-load of goods, and particularly the silk dress given to Mrs. Weefer. When he reached the store, he found his wife looking pale and troubled; there were present also three men with very serious countenances, and one of them said:—

"Mr. Somerton, I s'pose?"

"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"

"You can shell out my colt that's in your barn. I was goin' to take him whether or no, but your wife said you was a square man, an' would do what was right. Well, there's only one right thing in this case, an' that's to gimme back my colt."

"There are but two horses in my stable," said Philip. "One of them I've owned several months, and the other I bought yesterday."

"Who from?"

"From—" Philip took from his pocket the bill of sale and read from it the signature:—

"James Marney."

The three men exchanged grim grins, and the complainant said:—

"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."

The claimant, whose eyes by this time were bulging, exclaimed:—

"You've got a pooty long mem'ry, an' it's as good as it is long."

"As to that, I never saw the letter until yesterday. The man who brought the horse showed me the letter; otherwise I shouldn't have purchased."

The claimant and his companions exchanged looks of astonishment, and the deputy drawled:—

"How'd he git it, Jim?"

"It beats me," was the reply. "Onless he went through the house like he did the barn. That letter was in the Bible, where I keep some papers o' one kind an' another, cal'latin' that's as safe a place as any, not gettin' much rummagin'. He must 'a' knowed I had it. Oh, he's a slick un, Bill is, when he gits dead broke an' wants to go on a spree. You see, Mr. Somerton, the way of it was this: the wife was off visitin', an' I was ploughin' corn, an' took some snack with me, an' some stuff for the hosses, so's to have a longer rest at noon-time, not havin' to go back all the way to the house. The colt was in the barn, so I didn't miss him till I got home, long about dusk. Bill must 'a' knowed, some way, my wife wa'n't home, an' I could see by the lot o' hay in the colt's rack that he'd been took out 'fore the middle o' the day. I was so knocked by missin' him that I've been on the track ever sence, an' didn't think to look to see ef anythin' was gone from the house, but the cuss must 'a' prowled 'roun' consid'able ef he got that letter. Didn't bring in my rifle an' shotgun to sell, did he, nor flat-irons, nor cook-stove?"

"No, although he did sell me a saddle and bridle. I hope you'll succeed in catching the scamp."

"Oh, I ain't got no use for him. The furder away he gits, the better satisfied I'll be. We ain't never had no other thief 'mong our relations. I reckon it's you that ought to want him. What I want is my colt, an' I'm goin' to have him—peaceful, ef I kin, or by law, ef I must. He's thar—in your barn; I seen him through the door; so did my frien's here, so there's no good beatin' about the bush an'—"

"Stop!" said Philip. "There's no sense in insinuating that I would knowingly retain stolen property—unless you wish to have your tongue knocked down your throat."

"That's fair talk, Jim, an' I don't blame him for givin' it to you," suggested the deputy. "Now you chaw yerself for a while, an' let me say somethin'. It don't stan' to reason that any business man is goin' to try to keep a stolen hoss. On 'tother han', he'd be a fool to give up on the word o' three men he never seen till just now. You, Jim, ain't such a fool as to want to air the family skunk so fur from home, an' Mr. Somerton here ain't likely to be over'n above anxious to have a fuss that'll let ev'rybody in town know that he was took in by an amatoor hoss-thief. Now, Jim, jest sa'nter out an' get some square man, an' not a storekeeper that knows ye, to come in an' speak for ye, as if ye wanted to buy some goods on credit. Thet'll prove who ye be, an' like enough he'll know me, too, 'specially if it's—"

"Why not Doctor Taggess?" Philip suggested.

"Good idee," the officer replied, "for he knows both of us."

"An' he knows the colt, too," said the claimant.

"Better and better," Philip declared, for anything would have been preferable, at Claybanks or any other Western town, to being known as a merchant to whom a thief could sell anything.

Fortunately the Doctor was at home; he came to the store, identified the claimant, vouched for his honesty and truthfulness, and then identified the colt as the claimant's property. Philip told the entire story to the Doctor, who said there was nothing to do but surrender the horse—or repurchase him.

"How much do you want for him, Mr. Marney?"

"Ye ain't said what ye give a'ready."

"No; that's a different matter. What is your price?"

"Cash, note, or trade?"

"Whichever you like, if the figures are right."

"Well, seein' you've been put to expense a'ready, an' I don't need money for a couple o' months yet, an' you'll most likely give more on time than in cash, I'd rather take your sixty-day note for a hundred back home with me than take the colt back. No other man could have him so cheap."

"You shall have it—on condition, written and signed, that neither of you three shall tell the story of the thief's sale. No one else can tell it."

"You'll stand by me, boys?" said the claimant, appealingly.

"Sure!"

"Then I'll take the note, Mr. Somerton, an' you've done the square thing. But say, I'll throw off five dollar ef ye'll tell me what ye paid fer him."

"No," said Philip, beginning to draw a bill of sale to include the condition already specified.

"I'll make it ten."

"No."

"Ah, say! I cayn't sleep peaceful without knowin', but this is rubbin' it in. Fifteen!"

"Sign this, please," said Philip, showing the bill of sale. Then he passed over his own note for eighty-five dollars, and said:—

"I paid seventy-five dollars, cash."

"Well," sighed Marney, "that's a comfort—for besides knowin' how much 'twas, it shows what I wanted to b'lieve, that Bill was as much fool as scoundrel, else he'd 'a' ast more. Good-by, Mr. Somerton an' Doc."

The trio departed. The Doctor remained to condole with the victim, who could not help telling of his real-estate trade. The Doctor laughed,—but not too long,—then he said:—

"There ought to be finer grainings and markings, and, therefore, more money, in walnut roots than in the average of trees. I've been intending to experiment in that direction. As to that colt, let me drive him for you a few days; he may have the making of both prices in him."

When the Doctor departed, Philip got out his own horse and buggy, and insisted that his wife should drive, but Grace was reluctant to go. Something seemed to be troubling her. Philip asked what it was. "I wish Caleb were back," she said.

"Et tu, Brute? Now is my humiliation complete; but as Caleb is where he is, let us make the best of it." So saying, he indited the following telegram to Caleb, for Grace to send from the railway station, three miles distant:—

"Look up a buyer for big walnut stumps.

"Philip."