“Wall, no, though I heard the racket when my chickens got to squawkin’, and run to the coop with a gun; but the pesky rascals had cleared out with half a dozen of my best young fowls. I reckoned to larn where they was, and I’m on my way to town right now with a load of stuff, meanin’ to make a few inquiries in the mornin’.”
He grinned as he fumbled at the pocket of his coat.
“What have you got there, Mr. Perkins?” asked Tom.
“It’s a boy’s cap as was left in my coop last night,” declared the farmer; “and a queer lookin’ one at that. Guess they might tell me who it fits in Lenox.”
Every eye was focused on the cap which he held up. It was indeed of an odd color, and very likely the only one of the kind in that section.
Josh Kingsley laughed out loud.
“Guess we ought to know that cap, fellows!” he exclaimed. “The last time I saw the same it was perked on the red head of Tony Pollock.”