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Updated: June 5, 2025
An' I couldn't git somebody ter toll her off an' take her up. That ain't fair. What ought I ter hev done?" "Wa'al," said Luke, drifting into argument, "the town-folks 'low ez ye hev got nuthin ter prove it by, the stray-book an' records bein' burnt. The town-folks 'low ez ye can't prove by writin' an' sech ez ye ever tried ter find the owner."
"Ye air sech a triflin', slack-twisted tribe hyar in town, ez ennybody would know ef a spark cotched fire ter suthin, ye'd set an' suck yer paws, an' eye it till it bodaciously burnt up the court-house sech a dad-burned lazy set o' half-livers ye be! I never axed 'bout'n the court-house. I want ter know whar's that thar stray-book," he concluded, inconsequently.
Then realizing the futility of the question, he yielded to a fresh burst of anger, and turned upon the bereaved register. "An' did ye jes set thar an' say, 'Good Mister Fire, don't burn the records; what 'll folks do 'bout thar deeds an' sech? an' hold them claws o' yourn, an' see the court-house burn up, with that thar stray-book in it?" Half a dozen men spoke up.
"Wa'al, then," argued the optimist, "the stray-book will show ez she war reported an' sech." "The ranger took mighty partic'lar pains ter hev his stray-book in that thar court-house when 'twar burnt." There was a long pause while the party sat ruminating upon the suspicions thus suggested. Luke Todd heard them, not without a thrill of satisfaction. He found them easy to adopt.
The register had an expression of slow cunning as he cast a glance up at the overbearing ranger. "What ailed the stray-book ter bide hyar in the court-house all night, Tobe? Couldn't ye gin it house-room? Thar warn't no special need fur it to be hyar." Tobe Gryce's face showed that for once he was at a loss. He glowered down at the register and said nothing.
"Tobe Gryce, ye air fairly demented," exclaimed the register a chin-whiskered, grizzled old fellow, sitting on a stump and hugging his knee with a desolate, bereaved look "talkin' 'bout the stray-book, an' all the records gone! What will folks do 'bout thar deeds, an' mortgages, an' sech? An' that thar keerful index ez I had made ez straight ez a string all cinders!"
"The stray-book!" he cried. "Whar's the stray-book?" One by one the slow group turned, all looking at him with a peering expression as he loomed distorted through the shimmer of the heat above the bed of live coals and the hovering smoke. "Whar's the stray-book?" he reiterated, imperiously.
He shook his head, mourning alike for the party of the first part and the party of the second part, and the vestiges of all that they had agreed together. "An' ye ter kem mopin' hyar this time o' night arter the stray-book!" said the sheriff. "Shucks!" And he turned aside and spat disdainfully on the ground. "I want that thar stray-book!" cried Gryce, indignantly. "Ain't nobody seen it?"
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