The agent was putting up his switch-lights; from the kitchen came a cheerful clatter of tinware. "Now we buy some dry goods and wet," said Leo. They went into the store. "That decision's come!" shrilled Pappy in tremulous excitement. "It's too durn bad! Registered letters from Land Office for Taylor and Lake, besides another for Lake, not registered." "That one from the Land Office, too?" said Jeff. "Didn't I jest tell ye? Say, it's a shame! Why don't some of you fellers----Gosh! If I was only young!" "It's a travesty on justice!" exclaimed Leo indignantly. "There's really no doubt but that they decided for Lake, I suppose?" "Not a bit. He's got the law with him. Then him and the Register is old cronies. Guess this other letter is from him unofficial, likely." Jeff seated himself on a box. "How long has this Lake got to do his filing in, Pappy?" "Thirty days from the time he signs the receipt for this letter--durn him!" "Some one ought to kidnap him," said Leo. "Why, that's illegal!" Jeff nursed his knee, turned his head to one side and chanted thoughtfully: "Said the little Eohippus, 'I'm going to be a horse, And on my middle fingernails To run my earthly course'----" He broke off and smiled at Leo indulgently. Leo glanced at him sharply; this was Jeff's war-song aforetime. But it was to Pappy that Jeff spoke: "Dad, you're a better'n any surgeon. Wish you'd go out and look at Leo's horse. His ankle's all swelled up. I'll be mixin' me up a toddy, if Ma's got any hot water. I'm feeling kinder squeamish." "Hot toddy, this weather? Some folks has queer tastes," grumbled Pappy. "Ex-_cuse_ me! Me and Leo'll go look at the Charley-horse. That bottle under the shelf is the best." He bustled out. But Jeff caught Ballinger by the sleeve. "Will you hold my garments while I stone Stephen?" he hissed. "I will," said Leo, meeting Jeff's eye. "Hit him once for me." "Move the lever to the right, you old retrograde, and get Pappy to gyratin' on his axis some fifteen or twenty minutes, you listenin' reverently. Meanwhile, I'll make the necessary incantations. Git! Don't look so blamed intelligent, or Pappy'll be suspicious." Bransford hastened to the kitchen. "Ma Sanders, a bronc fell on me yesterday and my poor body is one big stone bruise. Can I borrow some boiling water to mix a small prescription, or maybe seven? One when you first feel like it, and repeat at intervals, the doctor says." "Don't you get full in _my_ house, Jeff Bransford, or I'll feed you to the hawgs. You take three doses, and that'll be a-plenty for you." Jeff put the steaming kettle on the rusty store stove, used as a waste-paper basket through the long summer. Touching off the papers with a match, he smashed an empty box and put it in. Then he went into the post-office corner and laid impious hands on the United States Mail.