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"I'm a labour union man," returned the voice with dignity.

"Then the quicker you git out o' here the fewer holes you'll have in yore hide!"

"But, look here," argued the voice, "you're open to reason, ain't ye?"

Abner considered, and as all hillmen avow fealty to reason, he said that he was.

"I know you got yore gun on me," said the voice. "I'll hol' my han's up agin the sky so you can see 'em. An' le's git over there by the far an' talk this thing over. I ain't tryin' to do you no dirt, but I take it if you are ackshelly doin' me a wrong you'll be man enough to change over an' say I'm right."

This was fair speech, in fact, too fair and too glib; it sounded recitative.

"Well," agreed the guard suspiciously, "hol' 'em up where I can see 'em; come up slow an' lemme search you fer a gun an' I'll talk with ye."

As Abner made his proposition, a form with arms elevated arose against the sky.

"I got a gun," said the figure, "in my front breeches pocket on my left side. I could 'a' shot you when I come up if I wanted to, but I ain't wantin' to hurt nobody."

"Well, come on," said Abner, and the two walked together back up the railroad embankment and sat down by the fire.

"Well, what do you want to say?" asked Abner. Then peering through the dim light he saw he was talking to Tim Fraley, the man who had laughed at Nessie and her little baby girl. A regret went through the guard that he had not fired when he first heard Fraley's voice, but the next moment his vengeful mood passed, and he sat looking at the striker with an inactive dislike.

Mr. Fraley cleared his throat and asked, "Got anything to drink? It's purty cold."

Abner produced his bottle.

Mr. Fraley took some, wiped the neck, and returned it to