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CONTENDING FORCES.

bern without Bill, and no one could possibly imagine Bill without his rawhide.

"Wall, mabby, mabby; depends on what you call wurk. Somebody," with a sly glance at Pollock from beneath his bushy eyebrows, "somebody's been circlatin' a r'port about a fren' o' yourn."

"Well," replied Pollock sharply.

"Looks like we'd treed a 'possum, sho."

"Well."

"Somebody says how's Montfort's slaves is wurkin' fur part pay; leastways, every mother's son o' them'll be free inside o' five years."

"Anything else?"

"We kin' o' thought that'd do fer a spell. He's done nuff in that ar to convict him an' buy his halter. Thet'll do fer one pint."

"But that don't cover the case. What luck have you had in spreading the other report?"

"Wall," said Bill, as he shot a copious draught of tobacco juice over the sanded floor, "mos' the fellers think it a pity 'bout Mis' Montfort. Blamed nice 'ooman. She's been mighty good to Jeff Peterson's fam'ly, an' Jeff he feels mighty uncomf'table 'bout hurtin' on her, durned ef he don'."

"You and Jeff want to do your duty," replied Pollock. "No matter about sentiment. Influence is great with certain people, and if

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