"To look at you, one would think—"
Then the engineer came to a sudden pause, and seemed embarrassed.
"I understand what you would say," remarked the peddler, with the faintest smile imaginable. "You imagine I will feel offended if you speak the truth, and say that I look like a battered, old tramp, but I should not. I will tell you the truth, young man. I have seen better days, but misfortunes came upon me, not singly, but in platoons, until I found my life a wreck. A wicked woman, poor whisky, and a reckless heart have brought me mighty low. I do not expect to rise again, but I have resolved to reform and pass the remainder of my days in honest endeavor.
"I turned to peddling from a natural liking to handle goods. I lead a wandering life now, and expect to till I die. I mean, however, to help you all possible, since I am assured that you are a good man and innocent of crime. My advice was once listened to; may I not hope that it will be again? Heed what I gay, trust me, and all will yet come out right. What do you say?"
"That I am unable to disobey at the present time, at any rate," answered the engineer. "Which may prove to be a blessing in disguise, after all."
Then queer Hiram Shanks came to his feet, and gazed sharply about him.
"I am not sure that this is the safest place that could be found," he said, "yet it isn't a place that people hunting for criminals would be apt to look. On the whole, I think you had better remain here until night, at least."
Then the peddler whistled to his dog, and walked away, leaving the sick man alone in the fisherman's shanty.
"Who is guilty? that's the question," muttered Hiram Shanks when once out of hearing of the sick man. "Bordine certainly doesn't act like a guilty wretch, and I, for one, believe him innocent. I must run down the guilty dogs, however, if I would save an innocent man and win the five thousand dollars reward."
Then the peddler hurried from the vicinity, accompanied by his dog.