“Well, now, Harry, I didn't expect the like of that from you, any how,” observed Bart, evidently touched at the remark. “The creature is honestly mine; and I supposed I had a right to get what was mine away, if I could, without going to law, which would help me about as much as it has you, I reckon. But supposing that to be law which aint right and justice, and so make me out a thief, as you say, how much boot could I afford to give you, Harry, to swap predicaments with me? You have just called yourself a murderer, which you aint, and me a horse-thief, which _I_ aint, any more than you the other. Now, how will you swap characters?” “Bart, you have silenced me. Injustice and oppression have made us both outlaws, but not intentionally wrong-doers. Let us still abstain from all intentional wrong, however trifling. And that leads me to observe, that whatever justification you may have for taking away the horse, you probably have none for carrying off the bridle.” “There you are out again, Harry. That bridle, which queerly happened to be put on Lightfoot to-day, (as if it was kinder ordered I should get the beast,) is the very one I bought last fall, to take her off with; but being so worked up, when I left, I forgot to bring it away.” “Upon my word, Bart, you are successful to-day in making defences.” “Always mean to be able to do so, Harry. Nobody has any honest claims on me in Guilford, now, nor I any on them. I leave 'em with every thing squared, according to my religion. “Except in the matter of your gun, which you leave--not exactly won by your opponent--behind you; do you not?” “They are welcome to it; much good may it do 'em. It has gone pretty much where I calkerlated to get it off--among those who used me the worst; though I'd some rather it had gone to Fitch, who hunts some, and would be sure to try it.” “That is queer reasoning, Bart.” “Well, there is a head and tail to it, for all that, Harry.” “What are they?” “Why, the head, or cause, is, that the last time I shot the piece, I overloaded it, being for black ducks, and the charge raised a seam, in a flaw underside the barrel, which I could blow through. And the tail, or consequence, is, that the next man who shoots it will wish he'd never seen it, I reckon.” “Ah, Bart, Bart, your religion, as you term it, is a strange one! But let us now dismiss the past, and think of the future. If you join me for the army, what do you propose to do with your horse--sell her?”