Zeke sat restless on the fence until S'manthy's boy, exultant that his manhood was to be recognized by his admission to the band, had gone out of sight in the direction of the grocery. Then Zeke sprang from the fence and started, as fast as legs could carry, along an old Indian trail, hoping by this disused and in some places obstructed short cut across the prairie to save a mile of the eight-miles' journey to Bob McCord's cabin. Bob was already abed when Zeke, badly blown by his rapid walking, knocked at the door. "Who's there?" called Bob, emerging from his first heavy sleep. "It's me--Zeke Tucker! Git up, quick, Bob! Jake Hogan's off at ten 'r 'leven, un it's nigh onto that a'ready." And Zeke impatiently rattled the door of the cabin, the latch-string of which had been drawn in to lock it. Bob came down on the floor with a thump, and his few clothes were soon pulled on; then he came out and stood in the fresh air, on the "butt-cut" of a tulip-tree, or "flowering poplar," which, to compensate for the descent of the hill-side, had been laid against the bottom log of his cabin for a front-door step. Zeke explained to him how urgent the case was. [Illustration: ZEKE AND S'MANTHY'S OLDEST SON.] "Baub! don't you go 'n' go off down to Moscow to-night," called Mrs. McCord. "They hain't no airthly use in your botherin' yourself so much about other folkses business. You'd orter stay'n' look arter your own wife un childern." It was Mrs. McCord's invariable habit to object, in her plaintive and impotent fashion, to everything her husband proposed to do. She had not the slightest expectation that he would remain at home in consequence of anything she might say, nor did she care that he should; but she had a vocation to hold in check his thriftless propensities. This she tried to do by protests uttered indiscriminately against all his outgoings and his incomings, his downsittings and his uprisings. "We ain't got no hoss," said Bob, replying to Zeke, and paying no heed to his wife. "Mrs. Grayson un Barb'ry 've gone un gone to town weth ole Blaze, so's to be weth Tom airly in the mornin'. What on yerth to do I don't noways see." Bob was standing with his fists in his pockets, looking off anxiously toward the horizon. "Can't you git Butts's?" said Zeke. "Thunder! No! Buttses un Graysons don't hitch. Butts don't speak to none uv'em, un he hates Tom the wust, fer throwin' rocks at his geese when they got into the medder, un dauggin' his haugs out-uh the corn. They'd a leetle rather Tom'd be lynched un not. By blazes! I've _got_ to git one of Butts's hosses right straight off. Buchanan's hoss is lame, un they hain't nary nuther one to be got this side uv Albaugh's, and that's too fur away. You go down to the branch un wait fer me, un I'll git Butts's little wagon. I 'low they'll be hoppin' mad 'f they fine out what I got it fer, but I've got to git it, 'f I have to steal it. They hain't no two ways about it."