" A dozen men heard him say it, and they
remembered it word for word.
"You go scratch yourself!" retorted Anderson Crow scornfully. That was
supposed to be a terrible challenge, but the stranger took no notice of
it.
"What am I to do with this horse and buggy?" he growled, half to
himself. "I bought the darned thing outright up in Boggs City, just
because the liveryman didn't know me and wouldn't let me a rig. Now I
suppose I'll have to take the old plug down to the creek and drown him
in order to get rid of him."
Nobody remonstrated. He looked a bit dangerous with his broad shoulders
and square jaw.
"What will you give me for the outfit, horse, buggy, harness and all?
I'll sell cheap if some one makes a quick offer." The bystanders looked
at one another blankly, and at last the concentrated gaze fell upon the
Pooh-Bah of the town. The case seemed to be one that called for his
attention; truly, it did not look like public property, this astounding
proposition.
"What you so derned anxious to sell for?" demanded Anderson Crow,
listening from a distance to see if he could detect a blemish in the
horse's breathing gear. At a glance, the buggy looked safe enough.
"I'm anxious to sell for cash," replied the stranger; and Anderson was
floored. The boy who snickered this time had cause to regret it, for Mr.
Crow arrested him half an hour later for carrying a bean-shooter.
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