“Well, for all that, Mr. Sturges,” responded Bart, banteringly, “I'll not take back what I've said about the nag. And to prove my earnest, I'll make you an offer; I'll bet my gun, which you saw me hand the landlord for safe keeping when they brought me in—I'll bet my gun against your hat, I'll take that creature and out-trot you, with any hoss you may choose to bring on.”
“Done!” exclaimed Sturges; “but you are contriving this up for a chance to get away, you scamp.”
“What should I want to get away for?” I haint done nothin: and there's a witness here that will swear to a thing or two for me, when the trial comes on, guess you'll find; besides, aint you young to ride by my side, with a loaded pistol in your hand?”
“Yes, and that aint all; I'll put a bullet through you the instant you make the least move to be off.”
“I'm agreed to that.”
“Well, but will they let you take the colt for the march?”
“Guess so; I'll venture to take her. The boy that rode her here has cleared out down to the brook a fishing; but I know him, and think he wouldn't object.”
“Who owns the colt?”
“Old Turner did, last year, when I lived with him; and the boy is from that way, and borrowed her, likely.”
“Then you have rode her, have you?” asked Sturges, doubtfully.