"Maybe I haven't any. What is your name?"
"Foster."
"It may come my way to do you a favor, Mr. Foster. You have been kind to me. But why do we turn up here?"
"To pick up one Laz Spencer, witness."
"One Laz Spencer," mused the old man. "It would be a tug of nature to have two. But I'm sorry you are goin' to take him. Let him go and I'll agree to deliver the testimony expected of him."
"No, that can't be. We have our orders."
Out by the fence and with laborious stroke Laz was cutting wood. Leaving off his work as the wagon drew near he gazed with hand-shaded eye, and recognizing Jasper, threw down his axe and began to scramble over the fence, but one of the men fired a shot to scare him and he dropped back, took off his hat, scratched his head and remarked: "Sorter 'pears like you got me. Helloa, Jasper. Didn't know folks war a comin' around a takin' you a ridin'."
"Get up into the wagon," Foster commanded.
"Yes, that's what I 'lowed I'd do. But let me go into the house an' put on some more duds if you air goin' to take me down into society."
"Go with him, Nick," said Foster, and the deputy leaped to the ground.