“’Twould hev been self-defense, ef I hedn’t been engaged in a unlawful act, preferrin’ ter squeege the juice out’n my apples, an’ bile an’ sell it, ’n ter let ’em rot on the groun’. I war a fool. I ’lowed the apples war mine. Me an’ my dad an’ my gran’dad hed owned the orchard an’ the lan’ sence the Injun went. But ’twarn’t my apples,—b’long ter the governmint. I ain’t never shot at no man ez didn’t shoot at me fust. But ’tain’t self-defense fur me. I’m got ter play sheep.” The woful tenor of this discourse seemed to anger Marvin suddenly. “Waal, I wish ye war slartered _now_!” he broke out. “I’d jes’ ez lief listen ter that thar wolf conversin’ by the hour. What ails ye, Jeb, ter git set a-goin’ so all-fired lonesome an’ doleful?” “Lord, nuthin’,” said Jeb amenably, from the van of the procession. “I ain’t lonesome nor doleful, nuther. When Mr. Harshaw ’lowed suthin’ ’bout my kemin’ ter see him on his farm, it jes’ reminded me sorter ez when I war young, afore my diff’unce with the governmint, I used ter be a powerful lively boy, an’ knowed plenty o’ folks, an’ went about mightily,—never lived like I does now. I war sorter o’ a vagrantin’ boy,—used ter consort with boys in the valley, an’ they’d kem up ter the cove an’ bide an’ go huntin’, an’ I’d go down ter thar farms; an’ that’s how it kem I knowed whar ye live on Ow_el_ Creek. Powerful good land some of it air,—mellow, rich sile; some cherty hillsides, though. None o’ them boys hev turned out like me. Why, I used ter know Jeemes Gwinnan ez well ez the road ter mill, an’ Jim’s a jedge a-gracin’ the bench, an’ I’m—a wolf!” Harshaw experienced a sudden quickening of interest. “You knew Gwinnan?” “Lord, yes; ez well ez the bark knows the tree. Jeemes war a fine shot, an’ he liked huntin’ fust-rate. He hedn’t his health very well, an’ his mother, bein’ a widder-woman, war more’n naterally foolish ’bout’n him, an’ war always lookin’ fur him ter die. So she’d keep him out’n doors ez well ez she could. But he’d kerry his book along, an’ read, ’thout he war a-huntin’. So she let him kem whenst he war jes’ a boy, an’ go huntin’ in the mountings along o’ the men growed. An’ it done him good. He war ez fine a shot ez I ever see.”