"Yes," agreed Wilson, "I guess maybe he is. But, Deacon, I don't know what their game is; wish I did."
"Did you talk sell, Tom?" asked Ringold, anxiously.
"No sir," his neighbor answered promptly, "I should say not."
"And Cobin—he ain't any head at all, poor Cobin—did he talk sell?"
Wilson laughed. "Not Cobin. He's quite satisfied with his little farm, I guess. No, Hinter didn't get much satisfaction from either of us."
The deacon jumped up and reached for his hat. "Tom, I'm goin' to saddle your roan and go ask a few questions of the other farmers, if you don't mind."
"Good idea," agreed his neighbor. "Here, you best set down and have a cup of coffee and I'll saddle him, myself."
"No coffee, thanks; had breakfast; I'll go 'long with you. Oh, by the way, Tom, I know now what caused that explosion t'other night," and the deacon proceeded to relate his investigation of the walled-in well.
Wilson listened interestedly, until Ringold was through. "Well, they've been careful enough about hidin' their good work, at any rate," he said. "You'd think they had somethin' mighty precious inside them walls the way they've guarded it; but I'm sorry if they've met with an accident," he added. "Hinter did really seem anxious to get water."
They went out to the stable and Wilson saddled the roan. "I'll be back in an hour or so," called the deacon as he rode away.