He
hev seen Mis’ Price’s harnt - an’ it plumb skeered the wits out’n him.”
Perkins did not understand this. His interest was suddenly alert. He took his pipe from his mouth, and glanced over his shoulder at Byers. “What air Rufe aimin’ at, Andy?” he asked, surprised.
Byers did not reply. He still gazed steadfastly at Rufe; the knife lay unheeded on the ground at his feet, and the hide was slipping from the wooden horse.
At last he said slowly, “Birt tole ye ’bout’n it, eh?”
“Naw, sir! Naw!” Rufe rocked himself fantastically to and fro in imminent peril of toppling off the wood-pile. “‘Twar Tom Byers ez tole me.”
“
Tom
!” exclaimed Byers, with a galvanic start.
For Tom was his son, and he had not suspected filial treachery in the matter of the spectral blackberry bush.