FROM THE LIFE
tions. He knew enough of law to keep out of litigation with a quarrelsome neighbor who let his cattle run wild, and enough of politics to vote independent of his party and to despise the campaigns of the Honorable Ben. On account of his ill health and his meditative habits he was the least successful farmer on the ridge, and his wife and his neighbors did not respect him for it. But his dog and his cattle always made a friend of him, and so did his son—who had recently died of a gunshot wound. Matt had been suffering with a chronic dejection since the accident.
Ben tied the horse to a tree, took a small black bag from the buggy, and came back with it. "I want to see you alone somewhere," he repeated.
Matt looked at the bag. "I'm goin' fishin'. If you want to come along—"
"Fishing!" Ben cried. "D'you think I came up here to go fishing! My time's valuable, if yours isn't."
"Well—" Matt took off his hat and rubbed the back of his head indifferently. He had a thatch of thick hair, like the pelt of a wild animal, rusty brown in spots and shaggy. "I promised the missus I'd get some perch fer dinner—if they'll bite. Water's cold yet fer perch."
"Here!" Ben shouted. "I've got no time to fool. I've got something to say to you, and I want you to hear it."
Matt shouldered his pole. "You kin stay here
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