“More civilized than some white folks,” spoke up young Jerome, remembering that the Redskin had been kind to him and Kingdom.
Duff growled an inaudible reply, in response to this thrust, and Kingdom, being tired and, moreover, wishing to avoid any trouble with this disagreeable fellow, suggested that it was time to go to bed.
The landlord, upon request of the boys, brought a candle and showed them into a small down-stairs room opening into a narrow passageway which led to the general living room where they had passed the evening.
“I wish we had not stopped at this wretched hole,” said Jerome when the boys were alone.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. It is pleasanter to be here, disagreeable as it is, than to be camped along the road,” Kingdom answered. “We could have slept in the wagon, but the horse couldn’t, and it is such a bad night! Make the best of it, old chap.”
For an hour the young friends lay awake talking of their journey and especially of the unusual interest the two strangers had shown in the death of Ichabod Nesbit.
“I must have a drink of water,” said Jerome, as Kingdom turned over to go to sleep; and slipping into his trousers he felt his way along the passage, and opened the door of the living-room. The landlord and Duff and Dexter were sitting beside the little table, their heads bent close to the candle, while they intently examined a frayed and time-worn piece of paper.
“It ain’t no use, it ain’t. I’ve studied it right side up an’ wrong side up an’ side ways an’ length ways, an’ it ain’t no use!” Quilling, the landlord, was saying when Jerome’s footfall attracted the attention of the men.
“Blast you, you blasted spy!” cried Duff, springing toward the boy.
“Don’t repeat that, mister,” was the lad’s cool answer. “I was not spying on you, and don’t intend to let any one call me such names.”