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He stopped at the house for a minute and roused Mrs. Atterson and Old Lem and sent them over to help the unhappy Dickersons. He was nearly an hour getting to the crossroads store. There were lights and revelry there. Some of the lingering crowd were snowbound for the night and were making merry with hard cider and provisions which Schell was not loath to sell them.
The Dickersons seemed to be in disfavor in the community, and nobody cared whether Pete repeated what was said to his father, or not. "I was told," pursued the first speaker, screwing up one eye and grinning at Hiram, "that you broke Sam's gun over his head and chased Pete a mile. That right, son?" "You will get no information from me," returned Hiram, tartly.
It would never do for Hiram to show fear. And if both of the long-legged Dickersons pitched upon him, of course, he would be no match for them. But Sam Dickerson stumbled and almost fell as he reached the edge of the water-hole, and before he could recover himself, Hiram leaped upon him, seized the shotgun, and wrenched it from his hands.
"You'll have to go to town to buy grain, if you want to feed her up and for the chickens and the horse. The old man didn't make much of a crop last year or them shiftless Dickersons didn't make much for him. "I saw Sam Dickerson around here this morning. He borrowed some of the old man's tools when Uncle Jeptha was sick, and you'll have to go after 'em, I reckon.
Passing the barnyard first, he halted and examined the bright bay horse, with white feet the one that Pete had driven to the barbecue the day before the only one Pete was ever allowed to drive off the farm. The Dickersons, father and son, were not as early risers as most farmers in those parts. At least, they were not up betimes on this morning. But Mrs.
There nobody was yet astir, save the mules and horses in the barnyard, who called as he went by, hoping for their breakfast. Hiram knew that the Dickersons had turkeys and, like most of the other farmers, cooped them in distant fields away from the house. He found three coops in the middle of an old oat-field tinder a spreading beech.
He had to take it apart, cut a new valve out of sole leather, and put the pump together again. "We'll have to get a cross dog, if we remain here," he told Mrs. Atterson. "There is somebody in the neighborhood who means us harm." "Them Dickersons!" exclaimed Mrs. Atterson. "Perhaps. That Pete, maybe. If I once caught him up to his tricks I'd make him sorry enough."
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