"But again I ask, Sheriff, why did we not hear the rifle?"
"I reckon that's hard to explain. But I'll ask the boy what happened when he fired. I'm going to get off at Howard's and stay around that part of the country for a week or so. I have important business there."
"Something connected with the elections, I reckon," said the driver.
"Them elections is a long ways off. Still, I reckon I'll run when the time comes. With Squire Grundy on my side, I ought to make a tol'able good fight."
The men continued to talk about the robbers and the elections until they came to a station, where the horses were exchanged and several passengers taken in.
It was a little before sunset when the stage drew up in front of the Howard home-stead. What was Owen's surprise, when, looking through the window of the dining-room, he saw his giant friend entering the yard gate, while the stage continued on its way. This meant that Mr. Lane was to remain at his father's house at least for one night. But what could be the object of his visit? Was he coming to thank Owen for assisting him in capturing the robbers? No! this could not be; for the boy was convinced that no one had seen him or was aware of his presence on that eventful day.
Mr. Howard stepped out on the porch to welcome the stranger.
"Good evening, sir," he said to Mr. Lane, as the latter walked up the narrow foot path toward the house.
"Good even, sir. My name's Dick Lane—Coon-Hollow Jim, the folks often call me. I have got business in this here part of the country, and want to ask if I'll be welcome under your roof for one night."
"For a dozen nights, Mr. Lane—just as long as you wish to stay with us," said the farmer, grasping the visitor's hand. "We've heard of you before, sir," he continued. "Owen often speaks of your kindness to him at the shooting-match."