“He _was_ wild about that time,” Pole said, as he stood up to go, “but he settled down and made a man of hisse'f. I'll let you know about that land, Mr. Floyd. Ef you don't hear from me by--this is Tuesday, ain't it?--ef you don't hear from me by Saturday, you may know that my wife has decided to stay on up the country.” “But”--Floyd's face had fallen--“I hope nothing won't interfere with our deal, Baker. I'd like to have you on my place. I really would.” “All right, we'll live in hopes,” said the mountaineer, “ef we die in despair,” and Pole went out into the sunlight. “Now, Poley,” he chuckled, “who said you couldn't git all you was after? But _lie!_ My Lord, I don't know when I'll ever git all that out o' my body. I feel like I am literally soaked in black falsehood, like a hide in a vat at a tanyard. It's leakin' out o' the pores o' my skin an' runnin' down into my socks. But that dried-up old skunk made me do it. Ef he hadn't a-been so 'feared o' pore kin, I wouldn't 'a' had to sink so low. Well, I've got news fer Nelson, an' that's what I was after.” XX IT was ten o'clock that night when the stage, or “hack,” as it was called, put Pole down in the square at Springtown. He went directly to Floyd's store, hoping to see the young man before he went to bed, but the long building was wrapped in darkness. Pole went over to the little hotel where Floyd roomed. The proprietor, Jerry Malone, and two tobacco drummers sat smoking on the veranda. “He's jest this minute gone up to his room,” the landlord said, in response to Baker's inquiry as to the whereabouts of his friend. “It's the fust door to the right, at the top o' the steps.” Pole went up and knocked on Floyd's door, and the young merchant called out, “Come in.” Baker opened the door, finding the room in darkness. From the bed in the corner Floyd's voice came: “Is that you, Pole?” “Yes, I jest got back, Nelson. I went to the store expectin' to find you at work, an' then Jerry told me you was up here.” “Light the lamp, Pole,” Floyd said. “There are some matches on that table right under your hand.” “Oh, I hain't got long to stay,” returned the mountaineer, “an' I don't need a light to talk by, any more'n a blind man does to write his letters. I 'lowed I'd tell you what I done down thar. I seed Floyd.” “Oh, you did! After you left I got really interested in your venture, and I was afraid you might accidentally miss him.” “Yes, I seed 'im.” Pole found a chair and sat down at the little table, resting his hand on it, and tilting the chair back, after his favorite method of making himself comfortable. There was a lamp on a post in front of the hotel and its light came through a window and faintly illuminated the room. Pole could see the white covering of Floyd's bed and the outline of the young man's head and shoulders against a big feather pillow. “You say you saw him?” Floyd's voice was eager and restrained.