“If there ain’t proof, then guesswork’ll have to do,” one of them said to Archibald when he entered protest against the wild talk; and even the older and more conservative men in the crowd nodded assent. The camel’s back was broken. Valley patience had given out. No name was mentioned; but there was no doubt as to the direction in which the guesswork would point; and Archibald rode home, puzzling over the degree of his responsibility for Ezra Watts. He was inclined to think with the rest of the community, that Ezra was the barn burner; yet, though the suspected man had been closely watched, nothing had been discovered to connect him with the fires, except that sometimes he had been seen abroad on the nights when they occurred. More than that was needed for justification of rough handling and if the law could not reach Ezra, the best thing that could happen for both him and the community would be for him to go away before any violent outbreak could occur. Probably he would be only too glad to go, if he were warned of the danger and given money to smooth his way.
XII
Archibald ate his late supper absent-mindedly and spent his evening, as usual, with Pegeen and Wiggles and his pipe. Mrs. Benderby always dozed in the kitchen after her supper dishes were washed, and Spunky, like her big cousins of the jungle, always answered the call to good hunting when the night closed in; but Pegeen and Wiggles and the man they loved kept each other company in the living-room or on the doorstep and, whether they were merry or quiet, all three found content at the day’s end, in being together.
At their usual early bedtime, Pegeen rose and lighted the bedroom candles; but, instead of taking his candle, Archibald reached for his cap which hung beside the door. He had decided to see Ezra before he slept and send him away from the Valley, if any reasonable amount of persuasion or money would move him.
“I’m not sleepy, Peg,” he said. “No; nothing wrong. Never felt better. I’m just wide awake. Go to bed and don’t lie there listening for me. Wiggles and I are going to prowl.”
The drowsing dog whacked his tail sleepily against the floor, at the sound of his name, yawned elaborately, opened his eyes, and saw the cap in his master’s hand. Whereupon he forsook all idea of sleep and converted himself into a canine battering ram, until finally assured that he was invited to join in whatever the cap might mean.
The two went out into the warm, star-lit night; and Pegeen stood looking after them until the shadowy figures melted into the dark.
“I suppose it’s Her,” she said to herself, with a sigh, “but he didn’t seem so awfully, blue. I’m glad he took Wiggles.”
Wiggles was glad too, exuberantly glad. Night wandering was an unusual experience for him. In the early evening, he curled up close to his master or to the small girl who shared his allegiance and no temptation was strong enough to lure him beyond the sound of their voices or the touch of their hands. When they went off to bed, responsibility fell weightily upon him. A watch dog had no right to night roaming and Wiggles knew it. So, though sometimes his yellow body quivered with eagerness when distant night noises called him and his sharp nose sniffled excitedly at the scents that came to him on the night breeze, he kept faith with the sleepers in the shack and watched over them with unswerving fidelity as only a yellow mongrel dog knows.
But now he was out and away with a clear conscience and with his master for companion, and he made the most of the happy chance. Such frantic following of fresh smelly trails! Such wild yelping at stone walls where wood-chucks lurked! Such mad pursuit of little furry folk, going about their night business! Such excited returns to his master and futile efforts to tell him all about the things that, being only a man, he could not see or smell or hear!