solemn when he answered: "Then Jim
Starbuck, the man, will mash your head and throw you out into the road
where your dog is lying."

Old Jasper slapped himself and laughed, but there were tears in his
eyes. "Thar won't be no necessity for that, Jim. You know my appetite
ain't been right good lately--I've needed exercise, and the sort of
exercise I need, this here man is goin' to help me to take. Mister, once
mo' I ask you to untie that po' nigger, and then we will git at the
evidence. You hearn what the preacher said, and--"

Through the bushes a man came stalking. He was rugged and brusque, but
he bowed to the women and offered to shake hands with the men; but
Jasper inquired as to his business upon the scene, and put him back upon
formality until this point should be settled.

"Why, it's jest this," said he, looking round at the negro. "I was a
drivin' down the hill jest now, and a drivin' peart, when out run a dog
and bit at my hosses' feet. One of the hosses knocked him down and befo'
he could git up the wheel run over him. It made me mad, come a bitin' at
my hosses, an' I driv on, but I got to thinkin' that somebody mout be
accused of killin' him, so I come back, an' shore enough here you'd got
a nigger tied up. The killin' was a accident."

"All right, gentlemen," said Sanderson. "I'll turn him loose, and it
will be a good lesson fur him--it will l'arn him not to kill no dog of
mine. Cut the rope, Bob," he added, speaking to one of the boys.

The negro dropped down upon his knees to thank Jasper, but the old man
bade him arise and go about his business. "I would have done the same
for a dog," said he. "Wait a minit. You don't look like you've had
anythin' to eat lately. Here, boys, let's give him a few dimes."

Contributions were quicker and more spontaneous than the pennies that
fall in the twilight upon the outstretched banner of the Salvation
armyist; the newcomer took a piece of smooth silver out of a yarn sack
and handed it over, following the pace which Jasper had set. Tom gave a
dollar and Jim contributed enough to buy a hymn-book.

"Gentlemen," said Sanderson, "when I think a man's done wrong I want
blood, and sometimes I reckon I'm a little hot-headed about it--my
jestice is sorter blind--but when I find he hain't done wrong, w'y I
don't love money. Here, nigger, here's fifty cents, and I want you to
understand you mustn't kill a dog of mine."

With a broad grin, catching the reflection of the sil