“Now, Mr. Dickerson,” he added, as the man scrambled up, glaring at him evidently with more surprise than anger, “if you'll make Pete mend this fence, you can have your horses. Otherwise I'm going to 'pound' them according to the stock law of the county.”
“Pete,” said his father, briefly, “go get your hammer and staples and mend this fence up as good as you found it.”
“And now,” said Hiram, “I'm going home to gear the horse to the wagon, and I'll drive over to your house, Mr. Dickerson. From time to time you have borrowed while Uncle Jeptha was alive quite a number of tools. I want them. I have made inquiries and I know what tools they are. Just be prepared to put them into my wagon, will you?”
He turned on his heel without further words and left the Dickersons to catch their horses, and to repair the fence—both of which they did promptly.
Not only that, but when Hiram drove into the Dickerson dooryard an hour later he had no trouble about recovering the tools which the neighbor had borrowed and failed to return.
Pete scowled at him and muttered uncomplimentary remarks; but Sam phlegmatically smoked his pipe and sat watching the young farmer without any comment.
“And so, that much is accomplished,” ruminated Hiram, as he drove home. “But I'm not sure whether hostilities are finished, or have just begun.”
CHAPTER XV. ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON
“The old Atterson place” as it was called in the neighborhood, began to take on a brisk appearance these days. Sister, with the help of Old Lem Camp, had long since raked the dooryard clean and burned the rubbish which is bound to gather during the winter.