Barney hardly knew how he got back into the wagon; he only knew that they were presently jolting along once more in the midst of the yellow glare of sunlight. It had begun to seem that there was no chance for him. Like Nick, he too had madly believed, in spite of everything, that something would happen to help him. He could not think that, innocent as he was, he would be imprisoned. Now, however, this fate evidently was very close upon him.
Suddenly Jim Dow spoke. "I s'pose ye war powerful disapp'inted kase ye couldn't git yerself hitched in that thar winder; ye air too well used to it,—ye hev been through it afore."
"I hev never been through it afore!" cried Barney indignantly.
"Well, well," said Stebbins pacifically, "it wouldn't have done you any good if you hadn't gone through the pane just now. I'd have only thought you were one of those who stood on the outside. You see, the main point against you is that scrap of your coat and your button found right there by the Conscripts' Hollow,—though, of course, your going through the window-pane so easy makes it more complete."
Barney's tired brain began to fumble at this problem,—how did it happen?
He had not been on the ledge nor at the Conscripts' Hollow for six months at least. Yet there was that bit of his coat and his button found on the bush close at hand only to-day.
Was it possible that he could have exchanged coats by mistake with Nick the last afternoon that they were on the crag together?
"Did Nick wear my coat down on the ledge, I wonder, an' git it tored? Did Nick see the plunder in the Conscripts' Hollow, an' git skeered, an' then sot out ter lyin' ter git shet o' the blame?"
As he asked himself these questions, he began to remember, vaguely, having seen, just as he was falling asleep, his friend's head slowly disappearing beneath the verge of the crag.
"Nick started down ter the ledge, anyhow," he argued.