t o' fresh milk, an' we never missed 'er until it was time
she was back, an' then we went all the way to Dugan's before we found
out she hadn't been thar at all. Then her ma tuck up a quar notion,
an' helt to it like a leech fer a long time. My hoss had got out o'
the stable an' strayed off some'rs in the woods, an' Sally's mother
firmly believed the gal had run off. I don't know why she 'lowed Sally
would do sech a thing, but she did, and jest paced up an' down the yard
yellin' an' takin' on an' beggin' us to go fetch her back, so that none
of us at the house thought o' draggin' the hole at the foot-log. But
Bill Dugan did, an' soon come with the news whar she was at. Then her
ma jest had a spasm. I railly believe on my soul she cussed God an'
all futurity. She raved till she was black in the face."

"Then there is--is no doubt about it?" gasped Westerfelt. "She is
dead?"

"Of course she's dead," answered Slogan; "an' bein' as my hoss ain't to
be had, I 'lowed I'd try to borrow one o' yore'n to go order the
coffin." Slogan here displayed a piece of twine which he had wound
into a coil. "I've got the exact length o' the body. I 'lowed that
would be the best way. I reckon they kin tell me at the store how much
play a corpse ort to have at each end. I've noticed that coffins
always look longer, a sight, than the pusson ever did that was to
occupy 'em, but I thought ef I tuck the exact measure--"

"Here's the stable key," interrupted Westerfelt, with a shudder. "Take
any horse you want. You'll find saddles and bridles in the shed."

Slogan turned away, and Westerfelt walked back to the veranda. "My
God!" he groaned; "why don't I _know_ it was accident? If it was not,
then may the Lord have mercy on my soul!"

He went into his room and threw himself on his bed and stared fixedly
at the ceiling, a thousand conflicting thoughts crowding upon him.
Presently he heard Slogan talking to the horse in the yard, and went
out just as he was mounting.

"I wisht you'd hand me a switch, John," he said. "I don't want to be
all day goin' an' comin'. I'll be blamed ef I ain't afeerd them two
ol' cats 'll be a-fightin' an' scratchin' 'fore I get back. They had a
time of it while the gal was alive, an' I reckon thar 'll be no peace
at all now."

"Does Mrs. Dawson blame anybody--or--or--?" Westerfelt paused as if he
hardly knew how to finish.

"Oh, I reckon the ol' woman does feel a leetle hard at us--my wife in