Sunday in a voice that never oughter been handed out to anything
livin' that hadn't the sense to choke itself at birth."

"Is that the reason of the dispute?" Jeff asked with smile.

Dug grinned and shook his head.

"No, siree," he cried. "It ain't a thing to do with it. But I guess
we'll keep clear of the dispute till he gets around. Y'see, this
arbitration game needs to be played good. I'd hate to get ahead of the
little cuss by settin' out my case in private. Nope. I hain't got a
thing agin that grasshopper. Not a thing, and I jest need to get this
thing straightened right, even if it goes agin me. That's why we fixed
on appealin' to you rather than the law. Y'see, I could buy up a
decision at law, which Peters knows, so we decided on the right
judgment of a straight feller. Say, what in----!"

Dug sprang from his chair with a forcible oath. Jeff, too, was on his
feet. There was a frantic clatter beyond the screen of creeper. A
string of hoarse invective in a human voice. The hammering of horses'
hoofs and the sound of tin being battered in a wanton riot. Dug broke
into a great laugh as he thrust his head out.

"Well, I be----!" he cried.

Jeff joined in his laugh. An absurdly small man was clinging
desperately to the saddle of an absurdly large horse, which was rearing
and plunging in a wild effort to shed its rider and bolt from the
neighborhood of the overturned smudge-fire bucket.

What a wealth of terror reigned. The gray-headed little man's face
matched the hue of his hair. His short arms were grabbing frantically
at his horse's neck. His eyes were full of a piteous appeal, and his
savage-looking spurs were firmly grappling his steed's flanks. The
wretched horse was shaking in every limb. Its eyes were bulging, and
the fierce snorts of his gushing nostrils had the force of escaping
steam.

Before any assistance could be offered by the onlookers the climax was
reached and passed. Elias Peters rolled slowly out of the saddle and
reached the ground with a heavy flop. Then, while its recent burden
gathered himself up, quite unhurt and smiling amiably in relief, the
horse contentedly mouched off toward a patch of inviting grass.

"Guess I'm kind o' late, Mr. McFarlane," Elias apologized. "An' it
seems I've bust up your fire-bucket some," he added ruefully. Then
with cheery optimism: "It was hustling to get here. I didn't jest see
it. Still, I got around."

"You sure have," grin