“You can pay me two dollars and I'll mend the fence; or you can mend the fence and we'll call it square,” said Hiram, slowly, and evenly. “I'm a boy, but I'm not to be frightened with a threat----” Pete's long legs brought him flying back across the fields. Nothing he had done in a long while pleased him quite as much as this errand. Hiram turned, jerked at the horses' bridle-reins, turned them around, and with a sharp slap on the nigh one's flank, sent them both trotting up into the Atterson pasture. “Stop that, you rascal!” cried Dickerson, grabbing the gun from his hopeful son, and losing his head now entirely. “Bring that team back!” “You mend the fence, and I will,” declared Hiram, unshaken. The angry man sprang down to his level, flourishing the gun in a way that would have been dangerous indeed had Hiram believed it to be loaded. And as it was, the young farmer was very angry. The right was on his side; if he allowed these Dickersons, father and son, to browbeat him this once, it would only lead to future trouble. This thing had to be settled right here and now. It would never do for Hiram to show fear. And if both of the long-legged Dickersons pitched upon him, of course, he would be no match for them. But Sam Dickerson stumbled and almost fell as he reached the edge of the water-hole, and before he could recover himself, Hiram leaped upon him, seized the shotgun, and wrenched it from his hands. He reversed the weapon in a flash, clubbed it, and raised it over his head with a threatening swing that made Pete yell from the top of the bank: “Look out, Dad! He's a-goin' ter swat yer!” Sam tried to scramble out of the way. But down came the gun butt with all the force of Hiram's good muscle, and--the stock was splintered and the lock shattered upon the big stone that here cropped out of the bank. “There's your gun--what's left of it,” panted the young farmer, tossing the broken weapon from him. “Now, don't you ever threaten me with a gun again, for if you do I'll have you arrested. “We've got to be neighbors, and we've got to get along in a neighborly manner. But I'm not going to allow you to take advantage of Mrs. Atterson, because she is a woman. “Now, Mr. Dickerson,” he added, as the man scrambled up, glaring at him evidently with more surprise than anger, “if you'll make Pete mend this fence, you can have your horses. Otherwise I'm going to 'pound' them according to the stock law of the county.” “Pete,” said his father, briefly, “go get your hammer and staples and mend this fence up as good as you found it.” “And now,” said Hiram, “I'm going home to gear the horse to the wagon, and I'll drive over to your house, Mr. Dickerson. From time to time you have borrowed while Uncle Jeptha was alive quite a number of tools. I want them. I have made inquiries and I know what tools they are. Just be prepared to put them into my wagon, will you?”