“He could not have found it before he got where it was,” suggested Mrs. Graves. “He must camp out some time, else why did he take his gun with him?”
“That’s so,” said Mr. Graves, after thinking a moment. “I don’t feel like myself at all this morning; do you, S’manthy? Now I have got to get up and build the fire; but I don’t mind that. In a little while we’ll have somebody to build it for us. Who’s that coming there?” added Mr. Graves, who, as he drew on his trousers, went to the window and glanced up and down the road. “If there ain’t Jonas I am a Dutchman. He wants to see what has become of Nat.”
“You won’t tell him, of course?” said his wife.
“Mighty clear of me. I don’t know where he is and neither do you.”
The silence that followed on the inside of the cabin was broken at last by the hasty crunch of earth and stones outside the door, and then Jonas laid his heavy hand upon it.
“Who’s that?” shouted Mr. Graves.
“It is me; don’t you know Jonas?” answered a voice. “Get up here. I want to ask you a question.”
“All right. I will soon be there. Now, old woman, you cover up and don’t open your head while he is here.”
In a few minutes Mr. Graves opened the door and the two men greeted each other cordially.
“Howdy, Jonas. What started you out so early? How’s all your family?”