Then the game went fiercely against me. Ma Pettengill detected coyotes at the far edges of fields—so far that I would have ignored them for jack rabbits had I observed them at all. I claimed an occasional close one; but these were few. The outlook was again not cheering. It was an excellent morning for distant coyotes, and presently I owed Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill seven dollars, she having won two doubleheaders in succession. This ride was costing me too much a mile. Being so utterly outclassed I was resolving to demand a handicap, but was saved from this ignominy by our imminent arrival at the abode of this here Tilton, who presently sauntered out of a feeding corral and chewed a straw at us idly.
We soon took all that out of him. The air went something like this:
* * * * *
MRS. L. J. P.—brightly: Morning, Chester! Say, look here! About that gap in the fence across Stony Creek field—I got to turn a beef herd in there Thursday.
TILTON—crouching luxuriously on one knee still chewing the straw: Well, now, about that little job—I tell you, Mis' Pett'ngill; I been kind o' holdin' off account o' Snell bein' rushed with his final plowin'. He claims—
MRS. L. J. P.—still brightly: Oh, that's all right! Snell will be over there, with his men, to-morrow morning at seven o'clock. He said you'd have to be there, too.
TILTON—alarmed, he rises, takes straw from his mouth, examines the chewed end with dismay and casts it from him; removes his hat, looks at this dubiously, burnishes it with a sleeve, and sighs: To-morrow morning! You don't mean to-morrow—
MRS. L. J. P.—carefully yet rapidly: To-morrow morning at seven o'clock.
You don't want to throw Snell down on this; and he's going to be there.
How many men can you take?
TILTON—dazed: Now—now lemme see!
MRS. L. J. P.—quickly: You can take Chris and Shorty and Jake and yourself. Any one else?