as how hit
sorter is. He was a-stayin' at Tom's house, the furriner was,
a-dickerin' fer a piece o' lan'--the same piece, mebbe, that you're
atter now--an' Tom keeps him thar fer a week to beat him out'n a
dollar, an' then won't let him pay nary a cent fer his boa'd. Now,
stranger, that's Tom.

Well, Abe Shivers was a-workin' fer Tom--you've heerd tell o' Abe--an'
the furriner wasn't more'n half gone afore Tom seed that Abe was up to
some of his devilMINT. Abe kin hatch up more devilMINT in a minit than
Satan hisself kin in a week; so Tom jes got Abe out'n the stable under
a hoe-handle, an' tol' him to tell the whole thing straight ur he'd
have to go to glory right thar. An' Abe tol'!

'Pears like Abe had foun' a streak o' iron ore on the lan', an' had
racked his jinny right down to Hazlan an' tol' the furriner, who was
thar a-buyin' wild lands right an' left. Co'se, Abe was goin' to make
the furriner whack up fer gittin' the lan' so cheap. Well, brother,
the furriner come up to Tom's an' got Tom into one o' them new-fangled
trades whut the furriners calls a option--t'other feller kin git out'n
hit, but you can't. The furriner 'lowed he'd send his podner up thar
next day to put the thing in writin' an' close up the trade. Hit
looked like ole Tom was ketched fer shore, an' ef Tom didn't ra'r, I'd
tell a man. He jes let that hoe-handle drap on Abe fer 'bout haffen
hour, jes to give him time to study, an' next day thar was ole Tom
a-settin' on his orchard fence a-lookin' mighty unknowin', when the
furriner's podner come a-prancin' up an' axed ef old Tom Perkins lived
thar.

Ole Tom jes whispers.

Now, I clean fergot to tell ye, stranger, that Abe Shivers nuver could
talk out loud. He tol' so many lies that the Lawd--jes to make things
even--sorter fixed Abe, I reckon, so he couldn't lie on more'n one side
o' the river at a time. Ole Tom jes knowed t'other furriner had tol'
this un 'bout Abe, an,' shore 'nough, the feller says, sorter soft,
says he:

"Aw, you air the feller whut foun' the ore?"

Ole Tom--makin' like he was Abe, mind ye--jes whispers: "Thar hain't
none thar."

Stranger, the feller mos' fell off'n his hoss. "Whut?" says he. Ole
Tom kep' a-whisperin': "Thar hain't no coal--no nothing; ole Tom
Perkins made me tell t'other furriner them lies."

Well, sir, the feller WAS mad. "Jes whut I tol' that fool podner of
mine," he says, an' he pull out a dollar an' gives hit to Tom. Tom jes
st