"And so was the horse," put in Jack.
"Take him off, pa! he's smotherin' on me!" shouted Zeph.
"Your boy is abusin' mine. I'll take care o' him!" And Peakslow set a foot over the two lower rails left in the gap.
"You'd better stay where you are,—accept a friend's disinterested advice," remarked Betterson. "If your boy had been on the right side of the fence, minding his own business,—you will bear with me if I am quite plain in my speech,—my boy would have had no occasion to soil his hands with him."
Peakslow appeared quite cowed by this unexpected show of determination in his easy-going neighbor. He stood astride the rails, just where Betterson had arrested his advance, and contented himself with urging Dud to the rescue of his brother.
"Why do ye stan' there and see Zeph treated that way? Why don't ye pitch in?"
"That's a game two can play at," said Jack. "Hands off, Dud, my boy." And he stood by to see fair play.
"My boy had a right on that land; it's by good rights mine to-day!" exclaimed Peakslow.
"We won't discuss that question; it has been settled once, neighbor," replied Betterson. "Rufus, I think you've done enough for that boy; his face is blacker than I ever saw it, which is saying a good deal. Let him go. Mr. Peakslow,"—with a bow of gracious condescension over the frayed stock,—"you are welcome to as much of this disputed territory as you can shake out of that youngster's clothes,—not any more."
"That seems to be a good deal," said Jack, laughing to see Zeph scramble up, gasping, blubbering, flirting soil from his clothes and hair, and clawing it desperately from his besmeared face.