“What d’you mean?” demanded the old man, eyeing him shrewdly.
“Well, I thought when I heard the shot and the fox was killed that the explosion was right over my head.”
“What’s that? Over your head! In the attic?”
“That is where the shot came from—yes.”
“Air you positive?” drawled the old man.
“I went up there this morning and saw the place where the fellow had rested the barrel of his gun across the window sill to shoot.”
“My! My!” muttered Ike thoughtfully. “And there wasn’t nobody up there this morning?”
“No. And I asked Hedden, and he said neither of the other men knew how to use a gun and that they all were in bed at the time the fox was shot.”
“Do tell!” muttered the woodsman. “Then they—well, the feller that shot the fox was up there in the attic about bedtime, was he?”
“Yes. Who do you suppose he was, Mr. M’Graw?” asked Neale curiously.