“You’re right,” asserted Buck. “The Squire’ll fight other folkses’ battles before he’ll take up his own—always did, always will, prob’ly. Now, I reckon if we manage this thing right, King Bradish will get the wickin’ put to him in good shape.”
He stopped outside the door of the office and concluded in a husky whisper:
“Even if the Squire don’t get her, Lys, let’s fix it so that King Bradish never will. Sylveny Willard’s too good a girl to be wasted that way, and if the Judge gits devil-set enough he’s li’ble to drive her right into it. Now we’ll ste’boy the Squire onto King in spite of himself.”
“That critter has rid’ around town with his nose up ‘bout’s long as I can stand it,” said Amazeen.
“He’s a stuck-up, blame-fired skunk, that’s what he is,” snapped Buck, the memory of certain sneers about “Palermo’s mossbacks” burning hotly with him.
The conspirators composed their faces and went in.
CHAPTER IV—SQUIRE PHIN FINDS HYMEN’S TORCH BURNING HIS FINGERS
“Old Widder Bugg was a-weanin’ her ca’f,