"Sure—but it don't show on paper. That's how he did business with old Widow Wilson. Bein' his son is bitter diet, Jim! If I was worth a can of sardines, I'd of cleared out long ago!"
Jim made his purchases, refused an invitation to dinner, and set out on the homeward journey. He passed several teams bound for the village; and within a hundred yards of the fork of the roads he came face to face with Amos Hammond. He pulled out to the left to let the store-keeper go by, but, instead of taking advantage of the space, Amos drew rein. So Jim brought the strawberry colt to a standstill. Amos was in a sleigh, despite the fact that he must have left home on wheels yesterday, when there wasn't any snow; and Jim wondered at that. The explanation was simple. Hammond had traded the unseasonable wagon for the sleigh and robes and new harness with an unwilling countryman whose note was in his possession.
"D'ye ever see Melchior up this way?" asked Hammond.
"Pull out," said Jim. "I want my share of the road. I'm in a hurry."
"I asked ye a question."
"Which I have no intention of answering. Pull out!"
"Young man, answer my question. Have ye ever seen my son in that house of iniquity where you now make your ungodly home?"
"House of iniquity? What do you mean by that?"
"The Ducat house, that sink of cardplayin' an' blasphemy."
Jim was out of the red pung like a flash and at the head of Hammond's mare in a second. He pulled the mare to one side, not ungently, then jumped along to the side of the sleigh, struck Hammond such a terrific chop across the right wrist with his mittened fist that the reins were released, and yanked him out and down.