“He was blowing about what he'd do to you down at the crossroads last evening,” said Henry. “He and his father both hate you like poison, I expect.
“And the fellers down to Cale Schell's are always stirrin' up trouble. They think it is sport. Why, Pete got so mad last night he could ha' chewed tacks!”
“I have said nothing about Pete to anybody,” said Hiram, firmly.
“That don't matter. They say you have. They tell Pete a whole lot of stuff just to see him git riled.
“And last night he slopped over. He said if you reported around that he put fire to Mis' Atterson's woods, he'd put it to the house and barns! Oh, he was wild.”
Hiram's face flushed, and then paled.
“Did Pete try to bum the woods, Hiram?” queried Henry, shrewdly.
“I never even said I thought so to you, have I?” asked the young farmer, sternly.
“Nope. I only heard that fire got into the woods by accident, when I was in town. Somebody was hunting through there for coon, and saw the burned-over place. That's all the fellers at Cale's place knew, too, I reckon; but they jest put it up to Pete to mad him.”
“And they succeeded, did they?” said Hiram, sternly.