“I was ’fraid so,” she murmured. “I figgered ’twas somethin’ like that, after you brought that corn-hook home. But if pop done that, ’twas Snake that put him up to it! Consarn him!” She stamped a foot in swift wrath. “Snake! He is a snake—a nasty p’isonous copperhead that bites without a warnin’! And he gits clear while other folks pay!”
“Snake’s the man I want,” he acquiesced. “I’ve been after him, too. But I want to get the truth out of your pop. And I’ll get it——”
“I’m ’fraid you won’t,” she interrupted soberly. “I’m ’fraid he’s gone for good. Seems like we’d have heard somethin’ ’fore if he was a-livin’. Mebbe—mebbe Snake done somethin’ to him that night. Snake, he’s a-layin’ awful low since then; nobody’s seen him.”
“Well, he’ll come to light sometime. He’ll have to. And now we have to look out for somebody else. I’ll get down to the house and bring up that medicine. By-by.”
“G’by.”
They parted, to his mingled regret and relief—for, be a girl’s father ever so base, it is inevitably distasteful to discuss with her that father’s ignominy. Down the road he walked fast toward his own abode and the waiting medicine.
With the sun-baked sand under his feet he realized anew how unseasonably hot was the day. The air was breathless, and heat-waves curved and twined visibly along the highway. Soon he shed his coat and shoved back his hat. As he neared his haunted house, too, he became more and more aware that the atmosphere was tainted by the same odor which had been breeze-borne to his nostrils earlier in the day.
Then, rounding the little curve beyond which stood the Dalton house, he checked his stride.
Beside the road, in his own yard, were a weather-beaten wagon and a white horse. They were Uncle Eb’s. The old man himself was not in sight.
Douglas jumped forward with increased speed. Uncle Eb might be waiting for him in the house, but that was hardly likely; the old man did not like that house. Had something happened to him?