“Strangers,” said he, “did you ever hear of the affair I had with Jack Scott?”

“No,” said Joshua.  “Spin it off, will you?”

“Jack and me used to be a heap together.  We went huntin’ together, camped out for weeks together, and was like two brothers.  One day we was ridin’ out, when a deer started up fifty rods ahead.  We both raised our guns and shot at him.  There was only one bullet into him, and I knowed that was mine.”

“How did you know it?” inquired Joshua.

“Don’t you get curious, stranger.  I knowed it, and that was enough.  But Jack said it was his.  ‘It’s my deer,’ he said, ’for you missed your shot.’  ‘Look here, Jack,’ said I, ’you’re mistaken.  You missed it.  Don’t you think I know my own bullet?’ ‘No, I don’t,’ said he.  ‘Jack,’ said I calmly, ‘don’t talk that way.  It’s dangerous.’  ’Do you think I’m afraid of you?’ he said, turning on me.  ‘Jack,’ said I, ‘don’t provoke me.  I can whip my weight in wildcats.’  ’You can’t whip me,’ said he.  That was too much for me to stand.  I’m the Rip-tail Roarer from Pike County, Missouri, and no man can insult me and live.  ‘Jack,’ said I, ’we’ve been friends, but you’ve insulted me, and it must be washed out in blood.’  Then I up with my we’pon and shot him through the head.”

“Sho!” said Joshua.

“I was sorry to do it, for he was my friend,” said the Pike County man, “but he disputed my word, and the man that does that may as well make his will if he’s got any property to leave.”

Here the speaker looked to see what effect was produced upon his listeners.  Joe seemed indifferent.  He saw through the fellow, and did not credit a word he said.  Joshua had been more credulous at first, but he, too, began to understand the man from Pike County.  The idea occurred to him to pay him back in his own coin.

“Didn’t the relatives make any fuss about it?” he inquired.  “Didn’t they arrest you for murder?”

“They didn’t dare to,” said the Pike man proudly.  “They knew me.  They knew I could whip my weight in wildcats and wouldn’t let no man insult me.”

“Did you leave the corpse lyin’ out under the trees?” asked Joshua.

“I rode over to Jack’s brother and told him what I had done, and where he’d find the body.  He went and buried it.”

“What about the deer?”

“What deer?”

“The deer you killed and your friend claimed?”

“Oh,” said the Pike man, with sudden recollection, “I told Jack’s brother he might have it.”

“Now, that was kinder handsome, considerin’ you’d killed your friend on account of it.”

“There ain’t nothin’ mean about me,” said the man from Pike County.

“I see there ain’t,” said Mr. Bickford dryly.  “It reminds me of a little incident in my own life.  I’ll tell you about it, if you hain’t any objection.”

“Go ahead.  It’s your deal.”

“You see, the summer I was eighteen, my cousin worked for dad hayin’ time.  He was a little older’n me, and he had a powerful appetite, Bill had.  If it wasn’t for that, he’d ‘a’ been a nice feller enough, but at the table he always wanted more than his share of wittles.  Now, that ain’t fair, no ways—­think it is, stranger?”