“And your wife was jest beautiful about Andy. You've saw me wicked to Andy. I am, and often, for I rile turruble quick, and God forgive me! But when that boy gits at his meanness--yu've seen jest a touch of it--there's scarcely livin' with him. It seems like he got reg'lar inspired. Some days he'll lie--make up big lies to the fust man comes in at the door. They ain't harmless, his lies ain't. Then he'll trick my woman, that's real good to him; and I believe he'd lick whiskey up off the dirt. And every drop is poison for him with his complaint. But I'd ought to remember. You'd surely think I could remember, and forbear. Most likely he made a big talk to you about that cabin.” John Clallam told him. “Well, that's all true, for onced. I did think he'd been up to stealin' that whiskey gradual, 'stead of fishin', the times he was out all day. And the salary I give him”--Jake laughed a little--“ain't enough to justify a man's breaking the law. I did take his rifle away when he tried to shoot my woman. I guess it was Siwashes bruck into that cabin.” “I'm pretty certain of it,” said Clallam. “You? What makes you?” John began the tale of the galloping dots, and Jake stopped walking to listen the harder. “Yes,” he said; “that's bad. That's jest bad. They hev carried a lot off to drink. That's the worst.” He had little to say after this, but talked under his tongue as they went to the house, where he offered a bed to Clallam and Mart. They would not turn him out, so he showed them over to a haystack, where they crawled in and went to sleep.