Lanky muttered the word to himself, after the manner of one who fancied that he had seen a ghost. He even rubbed his eyes and winked, in the belief that he was seeing things that did not exist. For since he had left that forlorn figure up in camp at Rattail Island, it hardly seemed possible that he could run across him here, only a few hours later, in Columbia!
The shuffling figure turned the corner and was gone. Lanky took a step forward as if tempted to follow after; then came to a halt.
"Rats! Why should I think of chasing after that poor chap? It was him as sure as guns; but what of that? Rattail is only two miles up by the road. A hobo thinks nothing of tramping ten or twenty in a day. What's he want down here to-night? Well, if he's like the rest of the breed I reckon its liquor that draws him. Bill—Bill what? There he was, right before me again, and I ain't an inch closer to solving that terrible puzzle than before. Bill—Billy Smith, Brown, Jones; say, this is just awful how it gets away from a fellow."
So shaking his head Lanky walked on. He could not help from turning a few times to ascertain whether the tramp was still in sight.
"He's gone, all right, and I reckon cut a bee line for the nearest saloon. And yet, come to think of it, he didn't exactly look like a drinker. There was something queer about that fellow, something a little mournful, too. Frank noticed it, though he didn't remember ever seeing him before. Wish I hadn't, for it bothers me like the mischief. Bill is going to haunt me until I know the rest."
Lanky walked on. After a short time he drew near the home of Lef Seller. It was a fine place, with a fence all the way around; for Mr. Seller owned the trolley line that led to Bellport, also the electric light plant, and several more things connected with the prosperity of Columbia.
"H'm! wonder if that old Brutus is tied up?" mused Lanky, as he reached the gate, and looked in! "he's almost toothless, but just as savage as ever. And I never fancied the rascal years back. Guess I'll take a peep and make sure."
Accordingly he walked on for a dozen yards, to where he could look back into the grounds of the Seller place.
"There's his little old dog-house under that evergreen tree. I can just see it in the moonlight, and beyond the patch of snow. What's that moving? Must be Brutus, all right, and he's chained up. Here goes then," and returning to the gate he passed through.
About that time he heard the clank of a chain. Then Brutus lifted up his tuneful voice, and began to bark savagely. The beast used to be the terror of the community; but age was swooping down upon him. With his teeth gone he did not create so much alarm in the hearts of passersby; but his bark was as full of fury as in the days of his prime.