“You did!” The light had gone out suddenly. “Fight it—You testify in court.”
The boy was looking down at the letter thoughtfully. “It ’s a good thing I asked,” he said.
“Asked what?”
“His name,” said the hoy. “I don’t know why I did it. One of the brakemen told me. He limps a little, does n’t he?”
“He ’s the man,” said Simeon promptly. “Rascal! Known him thirty years. He could n’t tell the straight truth if he tried—no more ’n he can walk straight.” His mouth shut grimly. “He won’t get a cent out of this road—not while I run it!”
“I don’t think he will,” said the boy quietly. “He was there—at the wreck. I saw him. But he came in a buggy.”
“Buggy?” Simeon sat up.
The boy nodded. “And he went away in it.-It was while I was looking after the freight—along toward the end. I had sealed the cars that were n’t broken up and I was trying to tally odds and ends—Things were scattered, you know?”
The man’s eyes assented gloomily.
“I was down in that gully to the left, looking after things, and I came on the horse and buggy tied there—a little way in from the road.”