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Updated: May 25, 2025
I could hardly say, and we moved pensively toward Major Harper's tent. Evidently the main poison was still in Gholson's stomach, and when I glanced at him he asked, "What d'you reckon brought Ned Ferry here just at this time?" I made no reply. He looked momentous, leaned to me sidewise with a hand horizontally across his mouth, and whispered a name. It was new to me. "Charlie Toliver?"
In Rowan County, Kentucky, in 1884, there was an election quarrel between two members of the Martin and Toliver families. The Logans sided with the Martins and the Youngs with the Tolivers. The Logan-Martin faction elected their candidate for sheriff by a margin of twelve votes. Then there was an affray in which one Logan was killed and three were wounded.
"I'm going to the telegraph office," he said as he went out. A few days after this, he was again in the best of spirits, for there was money in his pocket. "What have you been doing?" asked Mr. Toliver. His friend laughed like a boy. "Something very imprudent, I'm sure you will say. I've mortgaged my little place down home.
Lying back against a pile of saddles with my head in my hands, sodden with self-assurance, I replied, magnanimously, "Oh, I don't set up for a critic, but well would you call him a better man than Charlie Toliver?" "Who o?"
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