“By gum!” ejaculated the younger.
“Thet’s a likely story. Guess we can’t save it, Ruel, anyhow.”
“’Tain’t likely, dad. Thet hay is lost, sure.”
“It’s these fellers’ faults,” grumbled the father. “They most likely went to sleep smokin’ in it, an’ thet’s how it caught.” He grabbed Bob by the arm. “Yeou cum along o’ me.”
“It’s not my fault. Let go,” returned Bob. “Look at that wrist! And my friend has been struck in the back of the head. You had better help me carry him to some house and get a doctor. He is no tramp, but a guest over to Fitt’s hotel.”
At these words the farmer let go his hold and scratched his head.
“Wall, I dunno. Who be yeou?”
“Never mind that. This young man is Frank Landes. Perhaps you have heard of him. He comes around here occasionally.”
“Frank Landes! By gum, so it is! He’s with a New York commission house. Wall, thet’s different, o’ course it is. But who sot the hay afire?”
“Three men named Casco, Barker, and Grogan.”