"Sure; I was tellin' ye no fib. A man might have a darn sight worse one, let me tell ye that."
"And he's Jerry?"
"Yep; that's what I call him."
This was too much for the agent. With a savage oath, he settled himself back in his seat, and started the engine.
"Don't ye want to buy our place?" Abner asked. "We're willin' to sell, ain't we, Jerry?"
"To h—l with your place," the agent snarled, as he started the car. "I wouldn't do business with a fool, and that's what you are."
"Thanks fer the compliment an' fer the ride to town," Abner replied. "If it hadn't been fer you I'd had to walk here after Jerry. Guess it pays to rub people the right way, after all, ha, ha."
He watched the agent as he sped away. His mouth was expanded into a grin, and his gray eyes twinkled.
"Peaceful ancestors!" he chuckled. "Whew! Guess Zeb was right after all. It sartinly does the work. That feller's been set on by Ikey Dimock as sure as I'm livin'. But Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, wasn't caught nappin', not by a jugful, skiddy-me-shins if he was. Gid-dap, Jerry, me dear old pardner. We must git home an' face the music there."
CHAPTER XX