"Yes, suh," said Gabe. "Mist' Curry, you been mighty good to me, one way'n anotheh, an' I'd like to ast yo' fo' some advice."
"Well," said the old man, "advice is like medicine, Gabe—easy to give but hard to take. What's troublin' you now?"
"Mist' Curry, yo' 'membeh me tellin' yo' 'bout that Gen'al Duval colt of mine—how he neveh did look the same to me since I got him?"
"Yes," answered Curry, "an' I've a'ready told you that you can't prove anything on Pitkin. You may suspect that somebody switched them colts on you, but unless——"
"'Scuse me, suh," interrupted Gabe, "but I got beyon' suspectin' it now. I knows it was done."
"You don't say!"
"Yes, suh, I got the proof. Mulligan, he say to me jus' befo' he lights out, 'Gabe,' he say, 'that Smith colt, he belong to you by rights. Pitkin, he pulls a switch afteh yo' went to bed that first night.' He say he seen him do it."
"Mebbe the boy was just tryin' to stir up a little more trouble," suggested Old Man Curry.
"Ain't I tol' you he neveh did look the same? Them colts so much alike they had me guessin'. I done picked the one whut was widest between the eyes—an' that's the one whut been awinnin' all them races. That ain't Sergeant Smith at all—that's my Gen'al Duval. Pitkin, he gives me my pick an' then he switches on me. Question is, how kin I git him back?"