I was barreling down the highway enroute to the Caledonian Games in Athena, Oregon and smak dab in the middle of thuh highway thar set a roll of bob wa'r! Ah pult over, chukt hit intuh the back uh Eggbert an' hauled it intuh town. I wuz surprised at how much it weighed as hit whar a li'l ole thang. It'd uv done some damage iffin I'd hit it. A tag with a name on it suggested an owner.
In town an old garage that might once have been a stable/blacksmith shop appeared to be the hub of the universe. No sooner had I set toe to pavement than a guy about my age (Olde!!) with a long grey beard, grey coveralls and a dawg came ambling around the corner. "What kin ah do for yuh?" he asked. The dawg wriggled between his legs and settled its butt.
Not wanting to lead the witness with a preamble about "free wire", I smiled and asked, "Would you happen to know Steve Warner?"
"Steve Warner?!" he practically bellowed.
"Yeah." sez I. "I have a roll of his barbed wire."
"What're you doin' with Steve Warner's wire?" he asked with equal volume, and a bit of the hairy eyeball.
"I picked it up off the highway."
"It was jus' layin' out there, huh?," he inquired (a tad more calmly).
"Yeah." I said, tryin' tuh squeeze in a bit of assertiveness laced with helpful-citizen-doing-good. "It woulda caused some damage to whoever'd hit it."
He asked which way I was going and after ascertaining it was past Steve's he started to tell me how to find his house. I wasn't sure of my itinerary and after a bit he suggested maybe I could leave it with him and he'd call Steve and let him know it was there. It sounded like a plan.
Speculation had it the wire was worth $50.00 or more.
I'm glad I didn't hit it. Warner's an attorney and god-nose what litigations might have resulted from damaging his wire.