"Absolutely," the clerk replied, with some difficulty, his face still behind the deed, "unless--you can find--a market--for--walnut stumps." Then the clerk coughed alarmingly, and Philip pulled his hat over his eyes and hurried away, with a consuming desire to mount his horse, overtake Weefer, shoot him to death, recover the wagon-load of goods, and particularly the silk dress given to Mrs. Weefer. When he reached the store, he found his wife looking pale and troubled; there were present also three men with very serious countenances, and one of them said:-- "Mr. Somerton, I s'pose?" "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?" "You can shell out my colt that's in your barn. I was goin' to take him whether or no, but your wife said you was a square man, an' would do what was right. Well, there's only one right thing in this case, an' that's to gimme back my colt." "There are but two horses in my stable," said Philip. "One of them I've owned several months, and the other I bought yesterday." "Who from?" "From--" Philip took from his pocket the bill of sale and read from it the signature:-- "James Marney." The three men exchanged grim grins, and the complainant said:-- "His name ain't Marney, an' 'tain't James, neither. He's a no 'count cousin o' mine, an' his name's Bill Tewks. An' he never had no right of any sort or kind to the colt. The colt's mine, an' never was any one else's, an' I can prove it by these two men, an' one of 'em's depitty sheriff of our county, an' he's got a warrant for Bill's arrest for stealin' the hoss. My name's James Marney; I can prove it by any storekeeper in this town, or by Doc Taggess, or your county clerk, or--" "I'll take your word for it," Philip said hastily, for the thought of exposing a second business blunder to the county clerk in a single day--a single hour, indeed--was unendurable. "I don't see," continued the claimant of the horse, looking greatly aggrieved, "how a man buys one man's hoss off of another man anyway, leastways of a no 'count shack like Bill Tewks." "Perhaps not," said Philip, "but I may be able to enlighten you. Do you know a man named Caleb Wright?" "Know Caleb? Who don't? That ain't all; he's the honestest man I ever _did_ know. I wish he was here right now, instead of off to York, as your wife says, for he knows me an' he knows the hoss. Why, a spell ago, not long after old Jethro died, an' I needed some money pooty bad, I writ to Caleb an' ast him what he could git me in cash for the colt, here in town, prices of hosses here bein' some better'n what they be in our county, where there ain't never city buyers lookin' aroun', and Caleb writ back that--" "One moment, please," said Philip. "He wrote that any one ought to be glad to give you seventy-five dollars, but that you would be foolish to sell, because you could get far more a year later, but that if you really must sell, he wished you would give me the first chance."