“I'll never breathe a word of it,” I replied fervently.
“I'd trust ye,” she said. “Well, there was a gang across the street to-night—across from my place, I mean—and that sneaking Tom Terrill and Darby Meeker, and I reckon all the rest of 'em, was there. And they was runnin' back and forth to my place, and a-drinkin' a good deal, and the more they drinks the louder they talks. And I hears Darby Meeker say to one feller, 'We'll git him, sure!' and I listens with all my ears, though pretendin' to see nothin'. 'We'll fix it this time,' he said; 'the Old Un's got his thinkin' cap on.' And I takes in every word, and by one thing and another I picks up that there's new schemes afoot to trap ye. They was a-sayin' as it might be an idee to take ye as you come out of Knapp's to-night.”
“How did they know I was at Knapp's?” I asked, somewhat surprised, though I had little reason to be when I remembered the number of spies who might have watched me.
“Why, Dicky Nahl told 'em,” said Mother Borton. “He was with the gang, and sings it out as pretty as you please.”
This gave me something new to think about, but I said nothing.
“Well,” she continued, “they says at last that won't do, fer it'll git 'em into trouble, and I reckon they're argyfying over their schemes yit. But one thing I finds out.”
Mother Borton stopped and looked at me anxiously.
“Well,” I said impatiently, “what was it?”
“They're a-sayin' as how, if you're killed, the one as you knows on'll have to git some one else to look after the boy, and mebbe he won't be so smart about foolin' them.”
“That's an excellent idea,” said I. “If they only knew that I was the other fellow they could see at once what a bright scheme they had hit upon.”