“Oh, I guess he’ll believe you all right,” I said soothingly.
“You go with me,” begged Absalom, eyeing us both beseechingly. “He’ll believe you. He never believes me.”
“Maybe we had better,” said I. “He can stay here with you the rest of the night and we’ll drive over the first thing in the morning.”
The next morning bright and early found us again on the scene of the fire. Early as we were, we found Elijah Butts poking in the ashes of his cotton crop with a wrathful countenance. When he saw us coming he strode to meet us and without a word laid hold of Absalom’s collar. His expression was like that of a fox who has caught his goose after many hours of waiting.
“I’ve got you, you rascal,” he sputtered, shaking Absalom until his teeth chattered. “Where did you find him?” he demanded of Justice.
“In my bunk,” replied Justice, laying a hand on Mr. Butts’ arm and trying to separate him from his son. “He had been there all evening, and knew nothing about the fire. He didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do it!” shouted Mr. Butts. “Don’t tell me he didn’t do it. Of course he did it! Who else did?”
We weren’t prepared to answer.
“I’m sure Absalom didn’t do it, Mr. Butts,” said Justice earnestly. “I’d stake a whole lot on it.”
“Well, I wouldn’t, you can better believe!” answered Mr. Butts. “He did it, and I’m going to take it out of him.” He began to march Absalom off toward the house, urging him along with a box on the ear that nearly felled him to the ground.