shoe that did not suit him, and put down the foot and wiped his hands on his breeches.
"Who shod this horse, Quiller?" he said.
"Dunk Hodge," I answered.
The hunchback made a gesture as of one offered information that is patent. "I know Dunk made the shoes," he said, "by the round corks. But they 've been reset. Who reset 'em?"
"Dunk," said I.
"Not by a jugful!" responded Ump. "Old Dunk never reset 'em."
"I sent the horse to him," I said.
"I don't care a fiddler's damn where you sent the horse," replied the hunchback. "Dunk did n't drive them nails. They 're beat over at the point instead of being clinched. It 's a slut job."
"I expect," said Jud, "it was his ganglin' son-in-law, Ab."
"That 's the laddiebuck," said Ump, "an' he ought to be withed. That hind shoe has pulled loose an' broke. We 've got to git it put on."
"Then we shall have to try Christian," said
