“A pack o’ fresky cusses kem in hyar an’ play thar jokes off, an’ dust one ’nother with flour, an’ turn over the sorghum or the sugar, an’ folks tell me they war funnin’. I’ll git ter funnin’, fust thing they know! I don’t think nuthin’ in this world air ez funny ez a big hickory stick, an’ I kin use it so ez ter make _me_ laugh mightily, though some folks mought be too sober-sided, time I war done with it.” On a rickety chair, tilted against the white-faced wall, sat a young man, wearing a suit of cheap but spruce and showy store-clothes. He had a broad, freckled face, and sandy hair. He was a visitor here, Hobbs being his uncle, and Jepson’s intention to address him was so evident, as he came up the slope leading his mare, which looked reluctant and long-necked, still burdened with the deer, that the storekeeper, fearing a commercial opportunity might elude him while the young men talked, struck in, forestalling Jepson’s remark. “Wanter sell yer meat?” he demanded. “Take it, or leave it; I don’t keer,” said Jepson. He gave the reins to the storekeeper, who had risen, and he walked toward the young man, and paused before him. “Neal,” he said, looking down and putting one hand into his leather belt, “I want ye ter arrest me.” The storekeeper dropped the reins, and stood staring speechlessly, while the mare moved off a few steps and began to crop the grass. Neal Wright, who was the deputy sheriff of the county, dropped the forelegs of his chair to the ground, and asked, dismayed, “What hev ye done?” “That that racin’ an’ runnin’ down Eli Strobe.” “Eli Strobe ain’t dead.” “Naw,” said Jepson in a melancholy tone, “but I wanter be arrested now.” The deputy meditated for a moment. “Oh, g’long, Teck,” he said, in official perplexity, “I dunno what ter arrest ye fur. ’Twarn’t nuthin’ but a accident.” “Racin’ air unlawful,” said Jepson, moodily,—“a unlawful act.” “Shucks!” retorted the officer. “Las’ week I raced a gray horse o’ mine—a good un—with a horse o’ Jedge Grimm’s, o’ the Circuit Court. Both of us happened ter be goin’ out o’ Colb’ry same time. He hearn me a-clippin’ behind him, an’ he whipped up an’ spurred, an’ I whipped up an’ spurred. Don’t he know hossflesh, though, an’ don’t he love it! Oughter jes’ see that bay travel! An’ when he war a-gittin’ away from me, Jedge Grimm jes’ turned his big red face round wunst, an’ it war all one wink an’ grin. Me an’ the jedge air out o’ jail yit.” “Waal, I gin myself up,” persisted Jepson.