However, Hiram could not see how that would help Mrs. Atterson, for even testimony of witnesses who heard the discussion between the dead man and the real estate agent, could not controvert a written instrument. The young fellow knew that.
He harnessed the old horse to the light wagon and drove to the crossroads store kept by Caleb Schell. Many of the country people liked to trade with this man because his store was a social gathering-place.
Around a hot stove in the winter, and a cold stove at this time of year, the men gathered to discuss the state of the country, local politics, their neighbors' business, and any other topic which was suggested to their more or less idle minds.
On the outskirts of the group of older loafers, the growing crop of men who would later take their places in the soap-box forum lingered; while sky-larking about the verge of the crowd were smaller boys who were learning no good, to say the least, in attaching themselves to the older members of the company.
There will always be certain men in every community who take delight in poisoning the minds of the younger generation. We muzzle dogs, or shoot them when they go mad. The foul-mouthed man is far more vicious than the dog, and should be impounded.
Hiram hitched his horse to the rack before the store and entered the crowded place. The fumes of tobacco smoke, vinegar, cheese, and various other commodities gave a distinctive flavor to Caleb Schell's store--and not a pleasant one, to Hiram's mind.
Ordinarily he would have made any purchases he had to make, and gone out at once. But Schell was busy with several customers at the counter and he was forced to wait a chance to speak with the old man.
One of the first persons Hiram saw in the store was young Pete****erson, hanging about the edge of the crowd. Pete scowled at him and moved away. One of the men holding down a cracker-keg sighted Hiram and hailed him in a jovial tone:
"Hi, there, Mr. Strong! What's this we been hearin' about you? They say you had a run-in with Sam ****erson. We been tryin' to git the pertic'lars out o' Pete, here, but he don't seem ter wanter talk about it," and the man guffawed heartily.
"Hear ye made Sam give back the tools he borrowed of the old man?" said another man, whom Hiram knew to be Mrs. Larriper's son-in-law.
"You are probably misinformed," said Hiram, quietly. "I know no reason why Mr. ****erson and I should have trouble--unless other neighbors make trouble for us.""Right, boy--right!" called Cale Schell, from behind the counter, where he could hear and comment upon all that went on in the middle of the room, despite the attention he had to give to his customers.
"Well, if you can git along with Sam and Pete, you'll do well," laughed another of the group.
The ****ersons seemed to be in disfavor in the community, and nobody cared whether Pete repeated what was said to his father, or not.
"I was told," pursued the first speaker, screwing up one eye and grinning at Hiram," that you broke Sam's gun over his head and chased Pete a mile. That right, son?""You will get no information from me," returned Hiram, tartly.
"Why, Pete ought to be big enough to lick you alone, Strong," continued the tantalizer. "Hey, Pete! Don't sneak out. Come and tell us why you didn't give this chap the lickin' you said you was going to?"Pete only glared at him and slunk out of the store. Hiram turned his back on the whole crowd and waited at the end of the counter for Mr. Schell. The storekeeper was a tall, portly man, with a gray mustache and side-whiskers, and a high bald forehead.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Strong?" he asked, finally having got rid of the customers who preceded Hiram.
Hiram, in a low voice, explained his mission. Schell nodded his head at once.
