The watch was scarce worth twenty dollars. It had heavy, old-fashioned silver cases, but the works—though in good order—were antique. Horton offered it to the rider for his horse, and the latter, after dickering for something "to boot," and finding he could get nothing more, accepted it. Then he transferred the horse to the Evangelist, calling upon Ben to be a witness to the trade, and bidding our friends good day, stated that he wished to pass the night with a cousin six miles distant, and struck out over the fields.
The two travellers took a look at their new acquisition. He was a trifle old, and had a bone spavin, but otherwise was a good, solid chunk of a farm horse. The question now arose what to do with him.
"I'll tell you," said Horton, "it is about twelve miles to Lickskillet, where we strike the railroad. That is too far for you to walk to-night, but I can ride, and get into the town an hour or so before sundown, by pushing my horse. I'll sell him there for all I can get, and wait for you. You walk so far as you feel able to-night and get up early to-morrow morning and come on," and then after a pause: "Don't delay Ben, for it aint just safe for me to have money about me yet—my good resolutions are too new," and he laughed, but his voice was serious and entreating.
This arrangement being perfected the Evangelist mounted his purchase and rode off at a sharp canter, Ben following more slowly on foot.
Now that Horton was gone our hero discovered what a companion he had been. Always ready with some quaint suggestion or far-fetched argument—original in his metaphors and epigrammatic in his criticisms—he had caused the time to pass away agreeably, and Ben missed him.
With pleasant reveries he beguiled the way until sundown came upon him unnoticed. He could have made Lickskillet that night by an increase of exertion, but his feet were tired and as there was no necessity for getting into the town until morning, he began looking about him for a camping place. While prospecting for a straw pile, or hay stack, suitably situated for his night's rest, he passed a comfortable farm house, consisting of a frame building with a log kitchen in its rear. In the barn yard, near the house, a man was attempting to raise a corn crib by means of two timbers used as levers. The method did not appear to work well, and Ben watched him through several failures. He would first bear down one of his levers, and piling stones upon it attempt to hold it in this manner, while he lifted on the other. But the levers slipped, and he was unsuccessful. He had worked fruitlessly long enough to make help appreciated, and when Ben offered his assistance, it was gladly accepted. It took nearly an hour's labor to get the corn crib into the desired position and properly propped up.
When the work was done, the farmer thanked him and asked if he was travelling.
"Yes, sir; I'm on my way to St. Louis."
"Wall, I declar! Reckon you'll git thar twixt now and Chris'mas?"
Ben reckoned he would.