Wal, I didn't hev no idee this fellar was an Isbel until I heard Greaves call him thet.
"'Isbel,' said Greaves, 'reckon your money's counterfeit hyar.

I cain't sell you anythin'.' "'Counterfeit?
Not much,' spoke up the young fellar, an' he flipped some gold twenties on the bar, where they rung like bells.

'Why not?
Ain't this a store?
I want a cinch strap.' "Greaves looked particular sour thet mornin'.

I'd been watchin' him fer two days.

He hedn't hed much sleep, fer I hed my bed back of the store, an' I heerd men come in the night an' hev long confabs with him.
Whatever was in the wind hedn't pleased him none.