"Lindstrom's place is more'n a mile from here," declared Anton, his heart beating hard.
"Jest a mile," said Ole Lindstrom.
"And you say the shooting was before half-past eight?"
"It sho' was," the sheriff answered, "it was jest a little after half-past eight that Carl was carried home."
"Then," declared Anton, in a quiet way that carried conviction, "Dan'l didn't do it, and I can prove it."
"Mistah Anton! Mistah Anton!" the darky cried.
"Quiet! You!" said the man who was holding the prisoner.
"What do you mean, Anton?" the boy's father asked him.
"It's quite easy," the boy declared. "If the shooting was done before half-past eight, it was done just about the time that the rain began. It would take Dan'l—if he'd done it—all of twenty minutes to walk from Lindstrom's place here. It rained heavily, if you like I can give you the amount of rain in tenths of an inch, and twenty minutes of walking in that rain would make him wet through. By the time it had rained five minutes, the ground would be muddy. But see, Mr. Abner, the soles of the shoes are quite dry. And, Dan'l's clothes are quite dry."
He picked up the gun that stood leaning in the corner.