“Now, you’re a-talkin’ with a clear head an’ a clean tongue.” Pole drew a breath of relief and stood silent as Wade drew his horse around, put his foot into the heavy wooden stirrup and mounted. Pole said nothing until Wade had ridden several paces homeward, then he called out to him, and beckoned him back with his hand, going to meet him, leading his horse. “I just thought o’ some’n else, Jeff—some’n I want to say. I reckon I wouldn’t sleep sound tonight, or think of anything the rest o’ the day, ef I don’t git it off my mind.” “What’s that, Pole?” “Why, I don’t feel right about callin’ you to halt so rough jest now, an’ talkin’ about shootin’ holes in you an’ the like, fer I hain’t nothin’ agin you, Jeff. In fact, I’m yore friend now more than I ever was in my life. I feel fer you _’way down inside o’ me_. The look on yore face cuts me as keen as a knife. I—I reckon, Jeff, that you sorter feel like—like yore little sister’s dead, don’t you?” The rough face looking down from the horse filled. “Like she was dead an’ buried, Pole,” Wade answered. “Well, Jeff”—Pole’s voice was husky—“don’t you ever think o’ what I said a while ago about shootin’. Jeff, I jest did that to git yore attention. You mought ’a’ blazed away at me, but I’ll be derned ef I believe I could ’a’ cocked or pulled trigger on you to ’a’ saved my soul.” “Same here, old neighbor,” said Wade as he wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “I wouldn’t ’a’ tuck them words from no other man on the face o’ God’s green globe.” When Wade had ridden slowly away Pole mounted his own horse. “Now, I’ll go tell Nelson that the danger is over,” he said. Suddenly he reined his horse in and sat looking thoughtfully at the ground. “No, I won’t,” he finally decided. “He kin set thar an’ wonder what’s up. I was in a hair’s breadth o’ the grave, about to leave a sweet wife an’ kids to starvation jest beca’se of him. No, Nelsy, old boy, you look death in the eye fer a while; it won’t do you no harm.” And Pole Baker rode to the thicket, where he had hidden his bag of cornmeal that morning, and took it home. (_To be continued._) _A Phase of the Money Problem Bankers Dare Not Discuss_ BY ALBERT GRIFFIN _Author of “The Keynote: Substitute Honest Money for Fictitious Credit,” “The Hocus Pocus Money Boon”_