Suddenly, here was the deputy-sheriff himself, a young man, dusty and tired with his long, hard ride, but with an air of great satisfaction in his success. He talked with many quick gestures that were very expressive. Sometimes he would leave a sentence unfinished except by a brisk nod, but all the crowd caught its meaning instantly. This peculiarity gave him a very animated manner, and he seemed to Barney to enjoy being in a position of authority.
He pressed his foaming horse close to the wagon, and leaning over, looked searchingly into Barney's face.
The poor boy looked up deprecatingly from under his limp and drooping hat-brim.
All the crowd stood in silence, watching them. After a moment of this keen scrutiny, the deputy turned to the constable with an interrogative wave of the hand.
"This hyar's the boy what war put through the winder-pane ter thieve from Blenkins," said Jim Dow. "Thar's consider'ble fac's agin him."
"You mean well, Jim," said the deputy, with a short, scornful laugh. "But your performance ain't always equal to your intentions."
He lifted his eyebrows and nodded in a significant way that the crowd understood, for there was a stir of excitement in its midst; but poor Barney failed to catch his meaning. He hung upon every tone and gesture with the intensest interest. All the talk was about him, and he could comprehend no more than if the man spoke in a foreign language.
Still, he gathered something of the drift of the speech from the constable's reply.
"That thar boy's looks hev bamboozled more'n one man ter-day, jes' at fust," Jim Dow drawled. "Looks ain't nothin'."
"I'd believe 'most anything a boy with a face on him like that would tell me," said the deputy. "And besides, you see, one of those scamps," with a quick nod toward the jail, "has turned State's evidence."