“Come in! Come right in, son!” The explosive voice was even more abrupt than usual. “Where ye been all the time? I been by yer house twice—stopped to see ye—but ’twas all empty like. I was scairt the ha’nt might o’ got ye. These fellers—I dunno ’em—they ain’t no comp’ny o’ mine. I jest got home—been bee-huntin’—found a good tree, too—bet ther’s a good fifty pound o’ honey into it—these fellers was jest a-comin’ into the yard when I come.”
The jerky sentences, the strained look, told Douglas that Uncle Eb—Uncle Eb, who had previously asserted that he had no reason to fear detectives—was nervous. Now he thought he caught a meaning flutter of one white-lashed lid and a sidewise flicker of the eyes. But he could not interpret the signal—was not even sure it was so intended. So he only nodded carelessly.
“Uh-huh. I’ve been rambling around, or I’d have seen you sooner. Did you get that tobacco for me at High Falls?”
The question was a blind for the benefit of the listening pair. He had given Uncle Eb no commission to bring him more tobacco, and his present stock was more than ample. But the old man snatched instantly at the hint.
“Yas—yas, I did, boy. It’s into my bedroom—I’ll git it. But I dunno if I got what ye want. Ye didn’t tell me what kind, so I got two. Come pick what ye want, an’ I’ll keep t’other for myself.”
He lumbered into another room, Douglas lounging after. The two strangers made slight movements as if to follow, then remained where they were. Uncle Eb had left the door wide open, and the watchers saw that he was taking tobacco cans from the top of an old-fashioned chest of drawers: yellow cans and blue ones.
“They’re both slice-cuts,” rattled the old man. “Some likes one, some wants t’other. Take yer pick.”
Douglas, holding a can in each hand as if considering, knew by their lightness that no tobacco remained in them. They were old tins, saved by the thrifty hillman for any use that might occur to him. He slid a cornerwise glance at Eb.
“Or take both kinds if ye want—I’ve got some more.” Then, hardly moving his lips, the old man breathed: “Steve in barn—go tell him hide in hay!”
Douglas repressed a start. So that was it! Uncle Eb, loyal to his people though honest in his own life, was sheltering the refugee. And he, Hampton, who previously had had only a passive hand in aiding the fugitive, now must act either to help or to outwit the heavy-handed Law standing beyond the doorway.