"Do you come to me，" he shouted， "seriously with such a ridiculous， insulting， darned-fool proposition？""It's fa'r and squar'，" said the squirrel hunter， but he reached out his hand as if to take back the money； and then Goree knew that his own flurry of rage had not been from pride or resentment， but from anger at himself， knowing that he would set foot in the deeper depths that were being opened to him.He turned in an instant from an outraged gentleman to an anxious chafferer recom-mending his goods.
"Don't be in a hurry， Garvey，" he said， his face crimson and his speech thick."I accept your p-p-proposition， though it's dirt cheap at two hundred.A t-trade's all right when both p-purchaser and b-buyer are s-satisfied.
Shall I w-wrap it up for you， Mr.Garvey？"Garvey rose， and shook out his broadcloth."Missis Garvev will be pleased.You air out of it， and it stands Coltrane and Garvey.Just a scrap ov writin'， Mr.
Goree， you bein' a lawyer， to show we traded."Goree seized a sheet of paper and a pen.The money was clutched in his moist hand.Everything else sud-denly seemed to grow trivial and light.
"Bill of sale， by all means.'Right， title， and interest in and to'...'forever warrant and -- ' No， Garvey， we'll have to leave out that 'defend，'" said Goree with a loud laugh."You'll have to defend this title yourself."The mountaineer received the amazing screed that the lawyer handed him， folded it with immense labour， and laced it carefully in his pocket.
Goree was standing near the window."Step here， said， raising his finger， "and I'll show you your recently purchased enemy.There he goes， down the other side of the street."The mountaineer crooked his long frame to look through the window in the direction indicated by the other.
Colonel Abner Coltrane， an erect， portly gentleman of about fifty， wearing the inevitable long， double-breasted frock coat of the Southern lawmaker， and an old high silk hat， was passing on the opposite sidewalk.As Garvey looked， Goree glanced at his face.If there be such a thing as a yellow wolf， here was its counterpart.
Garvey snarled as his unhuman eyes followed the moving figure， disclosing long， amber-coloured fangs.
"Is that him？ Why， that's the man who sent me to the penitentiary once！""He used to be district attorney，" said Goree care-lessly."And， by the way， he's a first-class shot.""I kin hit a squirrel's eye at a hundred yard，" said Garvey."So that thar's Coltrane！ I made a better trade than I was thinkin'.I'll take keer ov this feud， Mr.Goree， better'n you ever did！"He moved toward the door， but lingered there， betray-ing a slight perplexity.
"Anything else to-day？" inquired Goree with frothy sarca**."Any family traditions， ancestral ghosts， or skeletons in the closet？ Prices as low as the lowest.""Thar was another thing，" replied the unmoved squirrel hunter， "that Missis Garvey was thinkin' of.'Tain't so much in my line as t'other， but she wanted partic'lar that I should inquire， and ef you was willin'， 'pay fur it，'
she says， 'fa'r and squar'.' Thar's a buryin' groun'， as you know， Mr.Goree， in the yard of yo' old place， under the cedars.Them that lies thar is yo' folks what was killed by the Coltranes.The monyments has the names on 'em.Missis Garvev says a fam'ly buryin'
groun'- is a sho' sign of quality.She says ef we git the feud thar's somethin' else ought to go with it.The names on them moiivments is 'Goree，' but they can be changed to ourn by -- ""Go.Go！" screamed Goree， his face turning purple.
He stretched out both hands toward the mountaineer， his fingers hooked and shaking."Go， you ghoul！ Even a Ch-Chinaman protects the g-graves of his ancestors -- go！"The squirrel hunter slouched out of the door to his carryall.While he was climbing over the wheel Goree was collecting， with feverish celerity， the money that had fallen from his hand to the floor.As the vehicle slowly turned about， the sheep， with a coat of newly grown wool， was hurrying， in indecent haste， along the path to the court-house.
At three o'clock in the morning they brought him back to his office， shorn and unconscious.The sheriff， the sportive deputy， the county clerk， and the gay attorney carried him， the chalk-faced man "from the valley"acting as escort.
"On the table，" said one of them， and they deposited him there among the litter of his unprofitable books and papers.
"Yance thinks a lot of a pair of deuces when he's liquored up，" sighed the sheriff reflectively.
"Too much，" said the gay attorney."A man has no business to play poker who drinks as much as he does.Iwonder how much he dropped to-night."
"Close to two hundred.What I wonder is whar he got it.Yance ain't had a cent fur over a month， Iknow."
"Struck a client， maybe.Well， let's get home before daylight.He'll be all right when he wakes up， except for a sort of beehive about the cranium."The gang slipped away through the early morning twilight.The next eye to gaze upon the miserable Goree was the orb of day.He peered through the uncurtained window， first deluging the sleeper in a flood of faint gold， but soon pouring upon the mottled red of his flesh a searching， white， summer heat.Goree stirred， half unconsciously， among the table's d閎ris， and turned his face from the window.His movement dislodged a heavy law book， which crashed upon the floor.Opening his eyes， he saw， bending over him， a man in a black frock coat.Looking higher， he discovered a well-worn silk hat， and beneath it the kindly， smooth face of Colonel Abner Coltrane.
A little uncertain of the outcome， the colonel waited for the other to make some sign of recognition.Not in twenty years had male members of these two families faced each other in peace.Goree's eyelids puckered as he strained his blurred sight toward this visitor， and then he smiled serenely.
"Have you brought Stella and Lucy over to play？"he said calmly.
"Do you know me， Yancey？" asked Coltrane.
