Stetson.

"Come back here! Don't be a fool."

"I'm not the man you're lookin' for," he replied stubbornly.

The undertaker started after him and laid a hand roughly upon his arm.

"See here, Lem, you goin' to blab this all over town?"

Remembering the graves he had dug for $5.00, the grave-digger began to
enjoy Lutz's anxiety.

"Can't tell what I'll do when I get a few drinks in me."

"You start somethin' and you'll be sorry." Lutz's tone was threatening.

"I'm naturally truthful; I aims to stick strictly to facts if I does
talk."

"Facts don't cut any ice in a libel suit," replied the undertaker
significantly.

Libel suit! That sounded like the law and the grave-digger had a poor
man's fear of the law. There was less assurance in his voice when he
asserted--

"No man don't own me."

"I don't want to see you get in trouble, Lem, and I'm tellin' you for
your own good that you better keep your trap shut on this. Who'd believe
you if you'd tell any such story? You couldn't prove anything with the
mayor and town officer against you if it was anything likely to get out
and hurt the town. Who of Lamb and Harpe's friends that see them pikin'
off to church every Sunday, singin' their sa'ms and the first at the
altar of a Communion Sunday, who, I say, would believe us if we'd tell
what we knew about that hospital and the whole lot more that we suspect?
They could bluff you out because you haven't got the money it would take
to prove you're right. Come back here and behave yourself and I'll try
and get you that $10."

"If I wasn't a family man----" mumbled the grave-digger.

"But you are, and it's no use bein' squeamish over somethin' that's none
of your business. This is your bread and butter."

It was the argument which has tied men's tongues since the world began
and it never grows less effective. The shovel dropped from the
grave-digger's shoulder.

"Hop in here and help me roll him back."

The grave-digger reluctantly obeyed.

"This looks fierce to me." He wiped the cold perspiration from his
forehead.

"Take a rock and hammer in them shingle-nails and forget it!"

When Dan Treu returned from his business trip to the County seat the
undertaker met him smilingly.

"I made a fine show for the money, Dan; you'd have been pleased.
Everything was plain but good and went off without a slip. I handled him
as I promised--like he was my own."

The few in Crowheart who heard the story laughed openly at the