Semler shook his head. “I’m having that sent on. Can’t wait. I’m ready to start now.” He looked toward the men on the steps. “Some of you take care of the horse,” he said quickly. “Garvey will send for it.”
Garvey was the farmer at whose house Semler had been staying. Will Bissell took the horse’s bridle and promised to stable the beast till Garvey should come. Tower was already in his car; Semler jumped in beside him. They were down the hill and across the bridge in a diminuendo roar of noise as the roadster, muffler cut out, rocketed away toward town. Two or three of the men got to their feet to watch them go, sat down again when they were out of sight.
There was a moment’s thoughtful silence before someone said, “What do you make o’ that? Semler in some hurry, I’d say.”
Jean Bubier laughed a little. “One dam’ hurry,” he agreed.
“Like something was after him—or he was after someone.”
Judd the mean cackled to himself. “By Gad,” he cried, “I’ll bet Evered’s got on to him. I’ll bet Evered’s after that man. No wonder he run.”
The other men looked at Judd, and they shifted uncomfortably. Will Bissell had gone round to stable the horse; Lee Motley had not yet come to the store, nor had Jim Saladine. Lacking these three there was no one to silence Judd, and the man might have gone on to uglier speech.
But he was silenced, and silenced by so inconsiderable a person as Zeke Pitkin. Zeke drove up just then, drove hurriedly; and they saw before he stopped his horse that he was shaking with excitement.
He cried out, “Hain’t you heard?”
Judd answered, “Heard what? What ails you, Zeke?”