“That is the second,” admitted Hiram. “But I don't propose that another shall be set afire in just the same way.”
Sam Dickerson stepped suddenly down to the young farmer's level, and asked:
“What do you mean by that? Do you know how it got afire?”
Hiram held out the sling-shot in the light of his lantern.
“A rag, saturated with gasoline, was wrapped around a pebble, then set afire, and stone and blazing rag were shot from our line fence into the fodderstack.
“I found the footprints of the incendiary on New Year's morning at the same place. And I'll wager a good deal that your son Pete's boots will fit the footprints over there at the line now!”
Sam Dickerson's face had turned exceedingly red, and then paled. But he spoke very quietly.
“What are you going to do with him, Mr. Strong?” he asked. “It will be five years for him at least, if you take it to court—and maybe longer.”
“I don't believe, Mr. Dickerson, that you have upheld Pete in all the mean tricks he has played on me.”
“Indeed I haven't! And since I got a look at myself—back there when the wife was hurt——”