He was a little man, thin and wiry, with bushy brown hair and beard, and keen dark eyes. His hands, slender and with long white fingers, played nervously with a quirt which he held, apparently for no purpose than that those nervous members might have occupation.
“What’s happened?” demanded Scott. “How do, Li Yow?” as the Chinaman came forward smilingly to take the horses.
“All gone,” he said, blandly. “Laided. One hen, some shickens—notting else left.”
“Raided! Did that young rascal——” began Hard, when Herrick interrupted impatiently.
“Oh, he has been to you, too? He makes a clean sweep of it! He comes here at noon with a score, perhaps, of men; and if there is anything they do not take, it is because it is broken—like my wagon. Men, money, and stock—our neighbor is thorough and no mistake!”
“I was afraid of it,” said Scott. “He’s cleaning up the community. Herrick, I want you to know Bob Street’s sister, Miss Polly Street.” He added a few words of explanation of the girl’s presence. Herrick surveyed her with interest.
“You are unlucky to strike this country at such a time,” he said. “Unless you like experiences?”
“I do,” said Polly, promptly. “That’s why they’re sending me home.”
The little man smiled. “After all, most experience is worth while,” he said. “Sit down and rest—you will stay, all of you, won’t you? For the night? There is some food left.”
Scott and Li Yow walked away with the horses to the barn which stood not a great way from the house, surrounded by a good-sized corral. Polly sank into an easy chair which commanded through a window a view of a part of the living-room. She caught a glimpse of a grand piano, bright colored rugs, bookcases overflowing with books, and other evidences of comfort. Hard gave their host an account of the Athens hold-up, not forgetting the part Polly had played in it.