"Oh," was Puffey's comment; "then there's likely to be ructions there before long, if that's the case."
"Just as likely as not," was the reply. "Well, good-night, Puffey. I must be going."
"So long, old chap," was his parting salute, as Puffey mounted his horse and rode away, feeling that he had learned one thing from what he had heard, and that was the cause which had led up to Barton's letter.
The next day Puffey, pursuing his quest, ventured to ride boldly up to Ranger's homestead and inquire for Fellows by name. He was told he was at work in the fields, but on receiving directions where he was to be found, and how he might know him, he resolved to go in search of Fellows, first stating, in order to allay any fears as to his motives, that he was commissioned by his officer personally to thank him for the part he had taken in the recent raid.
After a rather extended search, he at length came across his man, out on a distant part of the prairie cutting corn.
Some astonishment was naturally manifested at the sight of a member of the mounted police inquiring for one of the workers on the farm.
There are certain people who are seldom regarded as welcome visitors. A man never hears that a policeman is inquiring for him without a feeling of uneasiness beginning to steal over him, he could not perhaps tell why, although all the time perfectly conscious that there was no need to be at all apprehensive as to his object.
With Fellows it was different, since, although he had no reason to think that his secret had been discovered, there was his own consciousness of guilt, ever present, and ready to start into activity at the first symptoms of coming danger.
Puffey—like the keen observer he was reputed to be—did not fail to note the start which Fellows gave when he heard his name inquired for.
His sunburnt countenance did not, however, betray his momentary agitation. Recovering his self-control, he advanced at once to the constable, and looking steadily in his face, in a clear voice, unmarked by the least tremor, exclaimed—