While he was putting on the horse's harness and hitching him up, the brothers spread a piece of canvas over the wagon box. This they tucked in, and completely covered trunk and canvas with long grass pulled from the edge of a water pit near by.
Bart had the rig in full starting shape by the time they had concluded their labors.
"What's the ticket, Captain?" he inquired of Buck, looking him squarely in the face.
"You seem to know enough not to answer questions about yourself," observed Buck—"try and be as clever if anybody quizzes you about this wagon."
"Why should they?"
"Oh, they may. If they do, you're from—let me see—Blackberry Hill, remember?"
"All right—with a load of garden truck, eh?" propounded Bart ingeniously.
"You hit it correct. What we want you to do is this: Drive down to the main road, and turn west. Keep on straight ahead, and don't turn anywhere. About nine miles west you'll hit Hamilton. Drive right through the town, but as soon as you get out of it take the first branch south from the turnpike, and keep on till you reach an old mill on the river. Wait for us there."
"Why," said Bart, "aren't you going with me?"
"No," answered Buck Tolliver definitely.