"No, he's yours—and Mr. Wilbur's," answered Owen, his face flushing. "I didn't think it would hurt him to go that far. They are hardly using the horses at our yard now—since we got that new donkey engine up there."
"I don't like my men to use the horses for private purposes," growled Ulmer Balasco. "After this, if you want to go down, ride as far as the railroad runs and then walk," and without another word the man pursued his journey.
An angry retort arose to Owen's lips, but he suppressed it, and moved away in silence.
"The bully!" he muttered, when out of hearing. "The big, overgrown bully! What a difference between him and Mr. Wilbur! It didn't hurt the horse one bit to use him—he really needed the exercise. I believe he is down on us, just because we were recommended by his partner. I hope Mr. Wilbur comes out here and gives him 'hail, Columbia'!"
As Ulmer Balasco rode down into Tunley his face was very thoughtful. Something in Owen's manner had aroused the suspicion that had been slumbering in his breast ever since the two young lumbermen had applied to him for work.
"I'd like to know what he went down to Tunley for," he mused. "Wonder if I can find out?"
At the depot he met the station master and asked him if he had seen Owen.
"Yes, he was here with a couple of letters," was the reply.
"Hum! Did he—er—did he mail that letter to—er—Portland?"
"Don't know as he did, Mr. Balasco. The two he gave me to stamp were for some sheriff in Maine and to Mr. Wilbur."