“See you have,” nodded the man brusquely, looking over the horse. “You’re a fine young jailbird, aren’t you?” he hailed Ben.
“I am not what you think, mister,” declared the boy quietly. “My name is Ben Hardy, I live at Woodville, and everybody knows I am an honest boy.”
“You haven’t shown it at Auburndale,” observed the officer.
“Let me explain, please,” said Ben to the owner of the rig. “There is a man I have been looking for these past ten days. I ran across him here driving a fast horse. The only way I could follow him was by borrowing your rig.”
The owner of the vehicle looked Ben over critically. Our hero did not flinch from his penetrating glance.
“I came back soon as I could, as you see,” proceeded Ben. “Now then, what’s your bill?”
“My bill?” repeated the man in a surprised way.
“Certainly. I’ve put you out and had the use of your rig.”
“I guess he’s a pretty good boy. He seems to be telling the truth,” here remarked the officer.
“Then I shan’t charge him a cent.”