"Good Lord! You startled me," he exclaimed. He had not heard the
approach of the man, nor the opening and closing of the tavern door.
His gaze travelled past the tall figure of Putnam Jones and rested on
that of a second man, who leaned, with legs crossed and arms folded,
against the porch post directly in front of the entrance to the house,
his features almost wholly concealed by the broad-brimmed slouch hat
that came far down over his eyes. He too, it seemed to Barnes, had
sprung from nowhere.
"Fierce night," said Putnam Jones, removing the corn-cob pipe from his
lips. Then, as an after thought: "Sorry I skeert you. I thought you
heerd me."
"I was listening to the song of the anvil," said Barnes, as the
landlord moved forward and took his place beside him. "It has always
possessed a singular charm for me."
"Special hurry-up job," said Jones, and no more.
"Shoeing?"
"Yep. You'd think these hayseeds could git their horses in here durin'
regular hours, wouldn't you?"
"I dare say they consider their own regular hours instead of yours,
Mr. Jones."
"I didn't quite ketch that."
"I mean that they bring their horses in after their regular day's work
is done.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59