“Tell me where the girl is.”
That new, strange gathering of little good angels conspired again to make Rafe answer:
“I don’t know, sir. She went into that tent last night. That’s the last I seen of her. I didn’t set the dog to watch last night—I got tired of treating that little thing like she was a convict. So she’s slipped away.”
Something very like applause came from the All Stars, and it grew a little louder as Bet, having been awakened by the noise, appeared at the door. They were giving her credit, she understood, for having connived at the child’s escape.
“But she may be near at hand,” continued the man with the fiddle.
“I reckon not, sir. Her bed was fixed up to look like she was in it. She’s lit out all right.”
“Then I’ll do the same,” said Haystack Thompson. He reached in one of the wagons and drew out a few clothes tied in a square of homespun. “So long, folks,” he said. “Hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.”
The All Stars stared and forgot their manners, so that “Haystack” had to make his way on down the mountain with no one to say goodbye.
“So he was spying out the girl the whole time!” said they to each other.
But what they thought or knew was of no consequence to Haystack now. He swung on down the road, peering here and there, and hallooing at the top of his lungs every few minutes.