"So I told him about how the vigilantes had wrongly suspected a man who peddled rubber hose of a murder, overtook him under that very tree, and, lacking rope, strung him with a section of his own goods, riding away without a look behind them. When the poor lad was yanked off the horse the hose stretched so his feet touched the ground: he gave a jump, went up high enough to loose the strain, swallowed a mouthful of air, and so forth. His hands being strapped behind him he couldn't help himself, but for three days he hopped up and down there, securing light refreshment by biting the leaves off the tree, which, strange to say, never put out green leaves on that side again. "'And then he was rescued? Who did it?' "'He was--the vigilantes did it. The reason they suspected him was that they found a receipted bill for fifty feet of garden hose in Ike's, the murdered man's, pocket. Knowing perfectly well that Ike never paid a bill in his life, that looked suspicious, but when they come to look at it closer they see the bill was made out to another man, and they hustled back. The pedler was game, though weary. They raised an ax to free him, but he hollers--one word to the jump--"Don't--waste--too--much--hose!"' "Percival put his hand on my shoulder. I thought my little effort would receive at least a smile, and was preparin' to join in, when he says: "'Think of the state of that innocent man's mind for those three days!' "Well, I tried to, to oblige Percival, but I just naturally couldn't; if it hadn't been a nut come loose under the wagon there'd been nothing left for me but to die right there. "Only one thing marred the trip. We run across a man who asked where we was going. "'Oh, out a little way!' says I. "He looked at Percival. 'Here a minute!' says he. I went over to him. 'Look out for your eye!' he whispered. 'The 'Paches are up.' "Well, I never paid any more attention to a man predictin' Injun troubles than I do to a farmer's kickin' about the weather, so I thanked him and we strolled on. I explained to Percival that the man was the well-known desperado, James Despard, of the Bloody Hand, and he was askin' me if I'd met any of his enemies. "'He didn't look fierce,' says Percival. "'That's his lay,' says I; 'he goes up to a man and don't look fierce, and the first thing you know there's a funeral.'