"Well, Bartlett's gone out Keeseville way, so't kinder was lef' to me to tell ye. 'Member that ar chap that shot hisself in the leg down to your shanty this summer?"
"Well, I expect I do, seein' I ain't more'n a hundred year old," sarcastically answered Scott.
"He's cleared out South-aways some'eres, and his ma consaited she was dredful obleeged to ye; 'n I'm blessed if she didn't send an old Dutch feller up here fur to fetch ye that hoss fur a present. He couldn't noways wait to see ye pus'nally, he sed, fur he mistrusted the' was snows here sometimes 'bout this season. Ho! ho! ho!"
"Good land!" said Scott, sitting down on a log, and putting his hands in his pockets, the image of perplexity, while the men about him roared with fresh laughter. "What be I a-goin' to do with the critter?" he asked of the crowd.
"Blessed if I know," answered Hearty Jack.
"Can't ye get him out to 'Sable Falls or Keeseville 'n sell him fur what he'll fetch?" suggested Joe Tucker.
"I can't go now, noways. Sary's wood-pile's nigh gin out, 'n there was a mighty big sundog yesterday; 'nd moreover I smell snow. It'll be suthin' to git hum as 'tis. Mabbe Bartlett'll keep him a spell."
"No, he won't; you kin bet your head. His fodder's a-runnin' short for the hornid critters. He's bought some up to Martin's, that's a-comin' down dyrect; but 'tain't enough. He's put to't for more. Shouldn't wonder ef he had to draw from North Elby when sleddin' sets in."
"Well, I dono's there's but one thing for to do; fetch him hum somehow or 'nother; 'nd there's my boat over to the carry!"
"You'd better tie the critter on behind an' let him wade down the Racket!"