Y'see, it was this way. I was over to Lem Hudlow's
to ask if he had any hogs stole last night--Lem lives nigh the
poorhouse, you know. He said he hadn't missed any an' ast me if any hogs
had been found. I tole him no, not that I knowed of, but I jest thought
I'd ask; I thought mebby he'd had some stole. You never c'n tell, you
know, an' it pays to be attendin' to business all the time. Well, I was
drivin' back slow when up rode a feller on horseback. He was a
fine-lookin' man 'bout fifty year old, I reckon, an' was dressed in all
them new-fangled ridin' togs. 'Ain't this Mr. Crow, my old friend, the
detective?' said he. 'Yes, sir,' said I. 'I guess you don't remember
me,' says he. I told him I did, but I lied. It wouldn't do fer him to
think I didn't know him an' me a detective, don't y'see?
"We chatted about the weather an' the crops, him ridin' longside the
buckboard. Doggone, his face was familiar, but I couldn't place it.
Finally, he leaned over an' said, solemn-like: 'Have you still got the
little girl that was left on your porch?' You bet I jumped when he said
that. 'Yes,' says I, 'but she ain't a little girl now. She's growed
up.' 'Is she purty?' he ast. 'Yes,' says I, 'purty as a speckled pup!'
'I'd like to see her,' he said. 'I hear she was a beautiful baby. I hope
she is very, very happy.' 'What's that to you?' says I, sharp-like.
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