"Say, be yer goin' to stay 'round this district," asked the bully, changing the subject suddenly.
"Well, Mrs. Peake wants me to remain with her, and so does Abner. I'm thinking about it. When I make my mind up I'll let you know, Jim. If it's stay, why we can have it all over again. I want to warn you, Jim. You're going to get yourself into trouble if you keep on the way you're bent now. There's a law that sends a man to the penitentiary for setting fire to a neighbor's house," he said, as sternly as he could.
"Never set fire ter a house," declared Jim, quickly.
"Well, it doesn't matter whether it's a house or a barn or a hencoop. If Hank Squires could only find some positive evidence against you he says he'd lock you up right now; and Jim, I know how he could get all the evidence he needs."
"'Taint so," flashed out the bully, but looking alarmed all the same; while his hand half instinctively sought his rear.
"I think that an examination of those ragged trousers you wear would show where a few fine bird-shot peppered you as you ran. Perhaps both the other fellows got a touch of the same medicine, too, so you'd have company, Jim, when you went up."
"It's a lie. I never sot that pigpen on fire!"
"Oh! you know it was a pigpen, then, do you? I spoke of a chicken coop only."
"Heerd 'em torkin' about it. Thet ole busybody, Miss Pepper, she war in ther store wen I was gittin' somethin' fur mam, and she sed as how she'd run this village if she war a man, an' the feller as set fire ter a honest woman's pigpen 'd git his'n right peart. Like fun she wud," returned Jim, quickly.
"She's got her eye on you, Jim. She believes you led that gang. Going, eh, good-bye."