“What do you think of the story?” queried the sheriff.

“If that Robinson Crusoe guy had only had a hoss instead of a bunch of goats, he sure could have made them natives ramble.  And he sure took a whole lot of time blamin’ himself for his hard luck—­always a-settin’ back, kind o’ waitin’ for somethin’—­instead of layin’ out in the brush and poppin’ at them niggers.  He wa’n’t any too handy at readin’ a trail, neither.  But he made the grade—­and that there Friday was sure one white nigger.”

“Want to tackle another story?” queried Owen, as he put the book back on the shelf.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d jest as soon read this one over ag’in.  I was trailin’ that old Crusoe hombre so clost I didn’t git time to set up and take in the scenery.”

In his eagerness to re-read the story Pete had forgotten about the wager.  Owen’s eyes twinkled as he studied Pete’s face.  “We had a bet—­” said Owen.

“That’s right!  I plumb forgot about that.  You said you bet me a new hat that I’d ask you for another book.  Well—­what you grinnin’ at, anyhow?  ’Cause you done stuck me for a new lid?  Oh, I git you!  You said another book, and I’m wantin’ to read the same one over again.  Shucks!  I ain’t goin’ to fore-foot you jest because you rid into a loop layin’ in the tall grass where neither of us seen it.”

“I lose on a technicality.  I ought to lose.  Now if I had bet you a new hat that you would want to keep on reading instead of that you’d ask for another book—­”

“But this ain’t no law court, Jim.  It was what you was meanin’ that counts.”

“Serves me right.  I was preaching to you about education—­and I’m game to back up the idea—­even if I did let my foot slip.  Come on over to Jennings’s with me and I’ll get that hat.”

“All right!” And Pete rolled a smoke as the sheriff picked up several addressed letters and tucked them in his pocket.  “I was goin’ over to the post-office, anyway.”

They crossed to the shady side of the street, the short, ruddy little sheriff and the tall, dark cowboy, each more noticeable by contrast, yet neither consciously aware of the curious glances cast at them by occasional townsfolk, some of whom were small enough to suspect that Pete and the sheriff had collaborated in presenting the evidence which had made Pete a free man; and that they were still collaborating, as they seemed very friendly toward each other.

Pete tried on several hats and finally selected one.  “Let’s see how it looks on you,” he said, handing it to the sheriff.  “I don’t know how she looks.”

Owen tried the hat on, turning to look into the mirror at the end of the counter.  Pete casually picked up the sheriff’s old hat and glanced at the size.

“Reckon I’ll take it,” said Pete, as Owen returned it.  “This here one of mine never did fit too good.  It was Andy’s hat.”