ON the following Saturday morning there was, as usual, a considerable gathering of farmers at Springtown. A heavy fall of rain during the night had rendered the soil unfit for ploughing, and it was a sort of enforced holiday. Many of them stood around Mayhew & Floyd's store. Several women and children were seated between the two long counters, on boxes and the few available chairs. Nelson Floyd was at the high desk in the rear, occupied with business letters, when Pole Baker came in at the back-door and stood near the writer, furtively scanning the long room.

“Where's the old man?” he asked, when Floyd looked up and saw him.

“Not down yet. Dry up, Pole; I was making a calculation, and you knocked it hell west and crooked.”

“Well, I reckon that kin wait. I've got a note fer you.” Pole was taking it from his coat-pocket.

“Miss Cynthia?” Floyd asked, eagerly.

“Not by a long shot,” said Pole. “I reckon maybe you'll wish it was.” He threw the missive on the desk, and went on in quite a portentous tone. “I come by Jeff Wade's house, Nelson, on my way back from the mill. He was inside with his wife and childern, an' as I was passin' one of the little boys run out to the fence and called me in to whar he was. He's a devil of a fellow! He's expectin' his wife to be confined, an' I saw he was try'in' to keep her in the dark. What you reckon he said?”

“How do I know?” The young merchant, with a serious expression of face, had tom open the envelope, but had not yet unfolded the sheet of cheap, blue-lined writing-paper.

“Why, he jest set thar in his chair before the fire, an' as he handed the note up to me he sorter looked knowin' an' said, said he: 'Pole, I'm owin' Mayhew & Floyd a little balance on my account, an' they seem uneasy. I wish you'd take this letter to young Floyd. He's always stood to me, sorter, an' I believe he'll git old Mayhew to wait on me a little while.”

“Did he say that, Pole?” Floyd had opened the note, but was looking straight into Baker's eyes.

“Yes, he said them very words, Nelson, although he knowed I was on hand that day when he paid off his bill in full. I couldn't chip in thar before his wife, an' the Lord knows I couldn't tell him I had an idea what was in the note, so I rid on as fast as I could. I had a turn o' meal under me, an' I tuck it off an' hid it in the thicket t'other side o' Duncan's big spring. I wasn't goin' to carry a secret war-message a-straddle o' two bushels o' meal warm from the mill-rocks. An' I'd bet my hat that sheet o' paper hain't no flag o' truce.”

Floyd read the note. There was scarcely a change in the expression of his face or a flicker of his eyelashes as he folded it with steady fingers and held it in his hand.

“Yes, he says he has got the whole story, Pole,” Floyd said. “He gives me fair warning as a man of honor to arm myself. He will be here at twelve o'clock to the minute.”

“Great God!” Pole ejaculated. “You hain't one chance in a million to escape with yore life. You seed how he shot t'other day. He was excited then—he was as ca'm as a rock mountain when I seed him awhile ago, an' his ride to town will steady 'im more. He sorter drawed down his mouth at one corner an' cocked up his eye, same as to say, 'You understand; thar hain't no use in upsettin' women folks over a necessary matter o' this sort.' Looky' here, Nelson, old pard, some'n has got to be done, an' it's got to be done in a damn big hurry.”

“It will have to be done at twelve 'clock, anyway,” Floyd said, calmly, a grim smile almost rising to his face. “That's the hour he's appointed.”

“Do you mean to tell me you are a-goin' to set here like a knot on a log an' 'low that keen-eyed mountain sharp-shooter to step up in that door an' pin you to that stool?”

“No, I don't mean that, exactly, Pole,” Floyd smiled, coldly. “A man ought not to insult even his antagonist that way. You see, that would be making the offended party liable for wilful, coldblooded murder before the law. No, I've got my gun here in the drawer, and we'll make a pretence at fighting a duel, even if he downs me in the first round.”

“You are a fool, that's what you are!” Pole was angry, without knowing why. “Do you mean to tell me you are a-goin' to put yore life up like that to gratify a man o' Jeff Wade's stamp?”

“He's got his rights, Pole, and I intend to respect them,” Floyd responded with firmness. “I've hurt his family pride, and I'd deserve to be kicked off the face of the earth if I turned tail and ran. He seems to think I may light out; I judge that by his setting the time a couple of hours ahead, but I'll give him satisfaction. I'm built that way, Pole. There is no use arguing about it.”

The farmer stepped forward and laid a heavy-hand on Floyd's shoulder, and stared at him from beneath his lowering brows.

“You know, as well as I do, that you wasn't the only man that—that dabbled in that dirty business,” he said, sharply, “an' it's derned foolish fer you to—”

“I'm the only one he's charging with it,” broke in the merchant, “and that settles it. I'm not an overgrown baby, Pole. Right now you are trying to get me to act in a way that would make you heartily ashamed of me. You might as well dry up. I'm not going to run. I'm going to meet Jeff Wade, fair and square, as a man—as I'd want him to meet me under like circumstances.”

“My God! my God!” Pole said under his breath. “Hush! thar comes Mayhew. I reckon you don't want him to know about it.”

“No, he'd be in for swearing out a peace-warrant. For all you do, Pole, don't let him onto it. I've got to write a letter or two before Wade comes; don't let the old man interrupt me.”

“I'll feel like I'm dancin' on yore scaffold,” the farmer growled. “I want my mind free to—to study. Thar! he's stopped to speak to Joe Peters. Say, Nelson, I see Mel Jones down thar talkin' to a squad in front o' the door; they've got the'r heads packed together as close as sardines. I see through it now. My Lord, I see through that.”

“What is it you see through, Pole?” Floyd looked up from Wade's note, his brow furrowed.

“Why, Mel's Jeff Wade's fust cousin; he's onto what's up, an' he's confidin' it to a few; it will be all over this town in five minutes, an' the women an' childem will hide out to keep from bein' hit. Thar they come in at the front now, an' they are around the old man like red ants over the body of a black one. He'll be onto it in a minute. Thar, see? What did I tell you? He's comin' this way. You can tell by the old duck's waddle that he is excited.” Floyd muttered something that escaped Pole's ears, and began writing. Mayhew came on rapidly, tapping his heavy cane on the floor, his eyes glued on the placid profile of his young partner.

“What's this I hear?” he panted. “Has Jeff Wade sent you word that he is comin' here to shoot you?”

Pole laughed out merrily, and, stepping forward, he slapped the old merchant familiarly on the arm. “It's a joke, Mr. Mayhew,” he said. “I put it up on Mel Jones as me'n him rid in town; he's always makin' fun o' women fer tattlin', an' said I to myse'f, said I, 'I'll see how deep that's rooted under yore hide, old chap,' an' so I made that up out o' whole cloth. I was jest tellin' Nelson, here, that I'd bet a hoss to a ginger-cake that Mel 'ud not be able to keep it, an' he hain't. Nelson, by George, the triflin' skunk let it out inside o' ten minutes, although he swore to me he'd keep his mouth shet. I'll make 'im set up the drinks on that.”

“Well, I don't like such jokes,” Mayhew fumed. “Jokes like that and what's at the bottom of them don't do a reputable house any good. And I don't want any more of them. Do you understand, sir?”

“Oh yes, I won't do it ag'in,” answered Pole, in an almost absent-minded tone. His eyes were now on Floyd, and, despite his assumed lightness of manner, the real condition of things was bearing heavily on him. Just then a rough-looking farmer, in a suit of home-made jeans, straw hat, and shoes worn through at the bottom, came back to them. He held in his hand the point of a plough, and looked nervously about him.

“Everybody's busy down in front,” he said, “an' I want to git a quarter's wuth o' coffee.” His glance, full of curiosity, was on Floyd's face. “I want to stay till Wade comes, myself, but my old woman's almost got a spasm. She says she seed, enough bloodshed an' carnage durin' the war to do her, an' then she always liked Mr. Floyd. She says she'd mighty nigh as soon see an own brother laid out as him. Mr. Floyd sorter done us a favor two year back when he stood fer us on our corn crop, an', as fer me, why, of course, I—”

“Look here, Bill Champ,” Pole burst out in a spontaneous laugh, “I thought you had more sense than to swallow a joke like that. Go tell yore old woman that I started that tale jest fer pure fun. Nelson here an' Wade is good friends.”

“Oh, well, ef that's it, I'm sold,” the farmer said, sheepishly. “But from the way Mel Jones an' some more talked down thar a body would think you fellers was back here takin' Mr. Floyd's measure fer his box. I'll go quiet my wife. She couldn't talk of a thing all the way here this mornin' but a new dress she was goin' to git, an' now she's fer hurryin' back without even pickin' out the cloth.”

“No, I don't like this sort o' thing,” old Mayhew growled as the customer moved away. “An' I want you to remember that, Baker.”

“Oh, you dry up, old man!” Pole retorted, with sudden impatience. “You'd live longer an' enjoy life better ef you'd joke more. Ef the marrow o' my bones was as sour as yore'n is I'd cut my throat or go into the vinegar business.”

At this juncture Captain Duncan came in the store and walked back to the trio.

“Good-morning,” he said, cheerily. “Say, Floyd, I've heard the news, and thought if you wanted to borrow a pair of real good, old-fashioned duelling pistols, why, I've got some my father owned. They were once used by General—”

“It's all a joke, captain,” Pole broke in, winking at the planter, and casting a look of warning at the now unobservant Mayhew.

“Oh, is that it?” Duncan was quick of perception.

“To tell you the truth, I thought so, boys. Yes, yes—” He was studying Floyd's calm face admiringly. “Yes, it sounded to me like a prank somebody was playing. Well, I thought I'd go fishing this evening, and came in to get some hooks and lines. Fine weather, isn't it? but the river's muddy. I'll go down and pick out some tackle.”

He had just gone when an old woman, wearing a cheap breakfast shawl over her gray head, a dress of dingy solid-black calico, and a pair of old, heavy shoes, approached from the door in the rear.

“I got yore summons, Mr. Mayhew,” she said, in a thin, shaky voice. “Peter, my husband, was so down-hearted that he wouldn't come to town, an' so I had to do it. So you are goin' to foreclose on us? The mule an' cow is all on earth we've got to make the crop on, and when they are gone we will be plumb ruined.”

The face of the old merchant was like carved stone.

“You got the goods, didn't you, Mrs. Stark?” he asked, harshly.

“Oh yes, we hain't disputin' the account,” she answered, plaintively.

“And you agreed faithfully if you didn't pay this spring that the mule and cow would be our property?”

“Oh yes, of course. As I say, Mr. Mayhew, I'm not blamin' you-uns. Thar hain't a thing for me an' Peter to do but thrust ourselves on my daughter and son-in-law over in Fannin', but I'd rather die than go. We won't be welcome; they are loaded down with childern too young to work. So it's settled, Mr. Mayhew—I mean, ef we drive over the mule an' cow, thar won't be no lawsuit?”

“No, there won't be any suit. I'd let this pass and give you more time, Mrs. Stark, but a thing like that can't be kept quiet through the country, an' there are fifty customers of ours over your way who'd be runnin' here with some cock-and-bull story, and we'd be left high and dry, with goods to pay for in market and nothing to show for it. We make our rules, Mrs. Stark, and they are clearly understood at the time the papers are signed.”

“Never you mind, Mrs. Stark, I'll fix that all right.” It was Nelson Floyd who was speaking, and with a face full of pity and tenderness he had stepped forward and was offering to shake hands.

The little woman, her lips twitching and drawn, gave him her hand, her eyes wide open in groping wonder.

“I don't understand, Nelson—Mr. Floyd—you mean—”

“I mean that I'll have your entire account charged to me and you can take your time about paying it—next fall, or the next, or any time it suits you. I'll not press you fer it, if you never pay it. I passed your place the other day and your crop looks very promising. You are sure to get out of debt this coming fall.”

“Oh, Nelson—I—I don't know what to do about it. You see Mr. Mayhew says—”

“But I say it's all right,” Floyd broke in, as he laid his hand softly on her shoulder. “Go down in front and buy what you need to run on. I'll assume the risk, if there is any.”

Mayhew turned suddenly; his face wore a fierce frown and his thick lip shook.

“Do you mean to say, Nelson, that you are going to step in and—”

“Step in nothing!” Floyd said, calmly. “I hope I won't have to remind you, sir, of our clearly written agreement of partnership, in which it is plainly stated that I may use my judgment in regard to customers whenever I wish.”

“You'll ruin us—you'll break us all to smash, if you do this sort of thing,” Mayhew panted. “It will upset our whole system.”

“I don't agree with you, sir,” Floyd answered, tartly, “but we won't argue about it. If you don't intend to abide by our agreement, then say so and we will part company.”

Mayhew stared in alarm for a moment, then he said:

“There's no use talking about parting. I only want to kind of hold you in check. You get your sympathies stirred up and make plunges sometimes when you ought to act with a clear, impartial head. You say the crop looks well; then it's all right. Go ahead, Mrs. Stark. Anything Nelson does is agreeable to me.”

“Well, it's mighty good of you both,” the old woman said, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. “But I won't buy anything to-day. I'll ride out to the farm as quick as I can and tell Peter the good news. He's mighty nigh out of his senses about it.”

Mayhew followed her down into the store. It was as if he were ashamed to meet the quizzical look which Pole Baker had fixed upon him. He had no sooner turned his back than Pole faced Floyd, his heavy brows drawn together, his every feature working under stress of deep emotion.

“They say the Almighty is a just and a good God,” Pole said. “But I'll deny it all the rest o' my life ef He lets Jeff Wade shoot down sech a specimen o' manhood as you are fer jest that one slip, after—after, I say, after fillin' you with the fire of youth an' puttin' right in yore track a gal like that Minnie Wade, with a pair o' dare-devil eyes an' a shape that ud make a Presbyterian preacher—”

“Dry up, Pole!” Floyd cried, suddenly. “Don't forget yourself in your worry about me. A man is always more to blame than a woman, and it's only the cowards that shirk the consequences.”

“Well, you have it yore way, an' I'll have it mine,” Pole snorted. “What both of us think hain't got a damn thing to do with the time o' day. How does she stand by your ticker?”

Floyd looked at his watch. “It's a quarter-past eleven,” he said.

“The hell it is!” Pole went to the back-door and looked out at the dreary stable-yard and barn. He stood there for several minutes in deep thought, then he seemed to make up his mind on something that was troubling him, for he suddenly thrust his hand into his hip-pocket, turned his back on Floyd, drew out a revolver, and rapidly twirled the cylinder with his heavy thumb.

“Yes, I 'lowed I'd swore off from shootin'-scrapes,” he mused; “but I shore have to git in this un. I'd never look Sally an' the childern in the face ag'in ef I was to stand still an' let that dead-shot kill the best friend me an' them ever had. No, Poley, old boy, you've got to enlist this mornin', an' thar hain't no two ways about it. I'd take a drink on it, but a feller's aim ain't wuth a dang when he sees double.”

His attention was suddenly attracted to Floyd, who had left his stool and was putting a revolver into the pocket of his sack-coat. Pole shoved his own cautiously back into his pocket and went to his friend's side.

“What you goin' to do now?” he asked.

“I have just thought of something that ought to be attended to,” was the young merchant's answer. “Is Mel Jones still down there?”

“Yes, I see 'im now through the left-hand window,” said Pole. “Do you want to speak to 'im?”

“Yes.” Floyd moved in the direction indicated, and Pole wonderingly followed. Outside on the pavement, at the corner of the store, Jones stood talking to a group of eager listeners. He stopped when he saw Floyd and looked in the opposite direction, but in a calm voice the young merchant called him.

“Mel, may I see you a minute?”

“Certainly.” The face of the gaunt farmer fell as he came forward, his eyes shifting uneasily.

“I got a message from Jeff Wade just now,” said Floyd.

“Oh, did you?—is that so?” the fellow exclaimed.

“Yes, he says he has a private matter to settle with me, and says he'll be here at the store at twelve. Now, as you see, Mel, there are a good many people standing around—women and children—and somebody might get hurt or frightened. You know where Price's spring is, down behind the old brick-yard?”

“Oh yes, I know where it is, Floyd.”

“Well, you will do me a favor if you will ride out to Wade's and tell him I'll meet him there. He could reach it without coming through town, and we'd escape a lot of prying people who would only be in the way.”

“That's a good idea,” said Jones, his strong face lighting up. “Yes, I'll go tell 'im. I'm glad to see that you are a man o' backbone, Floyd. Some 'lowed that you'd throw up the sponge an' leave fer parts unknown, but Jeff's got to tackle the rale stuff. I kin see that, Floyd. Minnie's raised a lots o' devilment, an' my wife says she don't blame you one bit, but Jeff cayn't be expected to see it through a woman's eyes. I wish you was goin' to meet a man that wasn't sech a dead-shot. I seed Jeff knock a squirrel out of a high tree with his six-shooter that three men had missed with rifles.”

“I'll try to take care of myself, Mel. But you'd better hurry up and get to him before he starts to town.”

“Oh, I'll git 'im all right,” said the farmer, and he went out to the hitching-rack, mounted his horse, and galloped away.

The group Jones had been talking to now drew near.

“It's all off, boys!” Pole said, with one of his inscrutable laughs. “Explanations an' apologies has been exchanged—no gore to-day. Big mistake, anyway, all round. Big, big blunder.”

This version soon spread, and a sigh of relief went up from all sides. Fifteen minutes passed. Pole was standing in the front-door of the store, cautiously watching Floyd, who had gone back to his desk to write a letter. Suddenly the farmer missed him from his place.

“He's tryin' to give me the slip,” Pole said. “He's gone out at the back-door and has made fer the spring. Well, he kin think he's throwed old Pole off, but he hain't by a jugful. I know now which road Jeff Wade will come by, an' I'll see 'im fust ur no prayers hain't answered.”

He went out to the hitching-rack, mounted, and, waving his hand to the few bystanders who were eying him curiously, he rode away, his long legs swinging back and forth from the flanks of his horse. A quarter of a mile outside of the village he came to a portion of the road leading to Jeff Wade's house that was densely shaded, and there he drew rein and dismounted.

“Thar hain't no other way fer 'im to come,” he said, “an' I'm his meat or he is mine—that is, unless the dem fool kin be fetched to reason.”

---