"Well, what progress have you made? Any?"
"Well, Squire, I think he's goin' to jine," answered the horseman, in the peculiar drawling tones suggestive of the hill country, whose boundary lay purple and hazy along the distant horizon.
"You think he is?" cried the Squire impatiently, with a ripping oath. "What do you know about it?"
"That when I see him again he is to tell me if he's made up his mind to come to the next meetin' place. If he does, of course, he'll jine the band."
"And what does the band propose doing?" asked the Squire.
"To git free roads."
"How?"
"Not by waitin' on the courts; the people have tried that long enough. They're goin' to take things into their own hands a bit. They mean business."
"Yes, and damn 'em, they'll find that others mean business, too!" retorted the Squire, impetuously. "However, keep your eyes and ears open, and you'll soon hear the jingle of money in your pockets."
"I'll try to keep you posted, but it's risky business for me."