"I'll be movin' now," he said, as he wiped his mouth on a tattered sleeve. "God kape you safe, Caleb Spencer, an' may yer whisky-barrel niver run dhry."
And placing his battered hat jauntily on his scanty locks, Harry picked up his jug and was lost amid the shadows.
Presently Billy Wilson emerged from the cottage, received his basket from Caleb, and trotted off toward the Keeler place.
CHAPTER VI
THE RUSE THAT FAILED
Out behind the wood-shed Maurice Keeler, by the dim light of a smoky lantern, was splitting kindling for the morning's fire when something clammy and twisting dropped across the back of his neck.
"Holy Smoke! Bill, take it away!" he yelled, as his chum's laugh fell on his ears.
"Gosh! you ain't got no nerve a'tall, Maurice! It's only a milk-snake. I picked it up on my way home from the store. I'm goin' to put it in the menagerie."
Maurice sat down weakly on a block and wiped his face on his sleeve.
"Hang it all, Bill!" he complained, "what do you see in snakes to make you want'a handle 'em so? I'm scared to death of 'em; I own it."