"Then you will understand me when I tell you how it was. Some time ago I was mixed up in a land transaction. It is a long story, and all I need to tell you is that Belright Fogg was in it, too. I did some things that I oughtn't to, and that gave Fogg a hold on me. Finally he claimed that I owed him three hundred dollars, and he said if I didn't pay up he would make it hot for me and maybe land me in jail. That got me scared and I said I'd get the money somehow.
"Then by accident I saw Powell get the money from the bank, and I followed him on horseback, passed him, and took the cash, as you know. As soon as the deed was done I was sorry for it, but then it was too late," stuttered Blackie Crowden, and hung his head.
"And did you go to Belright Fogg and give him the three hundred dollars?" queried Sam.
"Yes. I met him in Leadenfield, at a road house kept by a Frenchman named Bissette."
"Then I was right after all!" cried Sam. "I accused Fogg of meeting you, but he denied it."
"Well, he got the three hundred all right enough," stuttered Crowden.
"And how was it you tried to keep out of our sight in that flood?" asked Sam curiously. "Did you know us?"
"I knew you—saw you follow me to the depot at Dentonville. You thought I got on that train. But I didn't—I took a night freight."
"I see. That is why the authorities didn't spot you."
"That's it. But you were asking about Fogg," continued Blackie Crowden, speculatively.