quired, his bright eyes livelier for the excitement, his voice eager.
"Yes, and everything gone with him that he could lay his ornery hands on, Uncle Boley."
"Serves 'em right for trustin' to that man. He never done an honest deed in his life 'cept when he was druv to it, and then it went so hard agin the grain you could hear him crack. I tell you, Texas, when this town finds out what you and that girl made him do for that widder woman yesterday it'll rair up and whoop."
"You didn't tell her—Mrs. McCoy—that we had any hand in it, did you, Uncle Boley?"
Texas asked him the question with such haste and eagerness that it was almost a plea.
"You know I never," said Uncle Boley, reproachfully. "When I pass my word to a man it sticks."
"I know it, Uncle Boley, and I beg your pardon, sir. I was nearly in a fit when I thought maybe they'd found out."
"It'd do you a hell of a lot of harm if they had!" Uncle Boley was sharply sarcastic. He spat on the sidewalk, and worked his mouth in that chopping manner so alarming to behold by one who did not know his ways.
"Well, this town it'll never think any better of me for it, Uncle Boley. That scoun'rel sneaked
