Elmer exchanged suggestive looks with his mates.
"From what you say, sir," he remarked quickly, "your fowls are carried off bodily. Is that it?"
"They jest keep on gettin' less an' less right along," the farmer admitted. "Me and Johnny here was thinkin' o' settin' up with guns to see if we could get a crack at the chicken thief, whether he was a mink, a badger, or a two-legged raskil."
"That's what we was meanin' to do," agreed the said Johnny, glad to have his name mentioned in the matter at all.
"Well, we've got a hunch, Mr. Trotter," said Lil Artha, bound to get his say in the affair, "that we might put you wise about that same thief."
"I'd shore be glad to hear it," declared the farmer; "Johnny here has been asayin' as heow he b'lieves thar's a feller ahidin' out in the swamp, 'cause he seen his tracks. I even reckoned on sendin' for a neighbor o' mine, Bay Stanhope, that's got some hounds used to follerin' people, an' see if we could run him daown."
"Well, Mr. Trotter, that is exactly what we scouts propose doing," said Elmer. "And now if you'll listen to something I've got to tell, you can understand what sort of interest we've got in this thing."
So in as few words as possible he narrated the story of how Hen Condit had acted in such a queer way, robbing his uncle and guardian, and actually leaving a silly letter that fastened the crime on his own shoulders.
"He was seen by one of my chums talking with a strange man just the day before this happened," continued. Elmer. "We believe that man was the same unknown party who has been hiding in Sassafras Swamp for a time past, and as you've just told us, living off your flock of fowls. Johnny here, down in the hay market, gave me something he picked up in the swamp near some ashes. Here it is, Mr. Trotter, and all of us believe firmly it is part of a steel handcuff which was filed in half, showing that the man must be a desperate character escaped from jail."
At that the farmer's wife uttered a little shriek, and began to look frightened.