w as the boys would 'a' killed him EXACTLY ef they had
kotched him, though they mought; but they got Abe Shivers, as tol' the
feller they was a-comin'--you've heard tell o' Abe-an' they mos' beat
Abraham Shivers to death. Stranger, the sorry cuss was Dave. Rosie
hadn't no daddy an' no mammy; an' she was jes a-workin' at Dave's fer
her victuals an' clo'es. 'Pears like the pore gal was jes tricked into
evil. Looked like she was sorter 'witched--an' anyways, stranger, she
was a fightin' Satan in HERSELF, as well as in Dave. Hit was two agin
one, I tell ye, an' hit wasn't fa'r.

Co'se they turned Rosie right out in the road I hain't got a word to
say agin Dave's wife fer that; an' atter a while the boys lets Dave
come back, to take keer o' his ole mammy, of co'se, but I tell ye
Dave's a-playin' a purty lonesome tune. He keeps purty shy YIT. He
don't nuver sa'nter down this way. 'Pears like he don't seem to think
hit's healthy fer him down hyeh, an' I reckon Dave's right.

Rosie? Oh, well, I sorter tuk Rosie in myself. Yes, she's been livin'
thar in the shack with me an' my boy Jim, an' the-- Why, thar he is
now, stranger. That's him a-wallerin' out thar in the road. Do you
reckon thar'd be a single thing agin that leetle cuss ef he had to
stan' up on Jedgment Day jes as he is now?

Look hyeh, stranger, whut you reckon the Lawd kep' a-writin' thar on
the groun' that day when them fellers was a-pesterin' him 'bout that
pore woman? Don't you jes know he was a writin' 'bout sech as HIM--an'
Rosie? I tell ye, brother, he writ thar jes what I'm al'ays a-sayin'.

Hit hain't the woman's fault. I said it more'n two year ago, when
Rosie was up thar at ole Dave's, an' I said it yestiddy, when my boy
Jim come to me an' 'lowed as how he aimed to take Rosie down to town
to-day an' git married.

"You ricollect, dad," says Jim, "her mammy?"

"Yes, Jim," I says; "all the better reason not to be too hard on Rosie."

I'm a-lookin' fer 'em both back right now, stranger; an' ef you will,
I'll be mighty glad to have ye stay right hyeh to the infair this very
night. Thar nuver was a word agin Rosie afore, thar hain't been sence,
an' you kin ride up an' down this river till the crack o' doom an'
you'll nuver hear a word agin her ag'in. Fer, as I tol' you, my boy,
Jim is the shootin'es' feller on this crick, I reckon, 'cept ONE, an',
stranger, that's ME!

THE SENATOR'S LAST TRADE

A drove of lean cattle were swin