“I got to humor him,” he told himself, although he was shivering uncontrollably. “I got to keep a grip on myself and kinda humor him.” And aloud, in a 128 voice that was little more than a whisper, he murmured:
“What––what is it?”
“Couldn’t you guess––if you had to?”
Denny made the suggestion with appalling calm. Old Jerry clenched his teeth to still their chattering.
“Maybe I could––maybe I could;” and his voice was a little stronger. “I––I’d say it was blood, I reckon, if anyone asked me.”
Without a word the boy set the lantern down and walked across the barn to lay one hand upon the flank of the nervous animal in the nearest stall.
“That’s what it is,” he stated slowly; and again he touched the wound on his chin gingerly. “From this,” he went on. “I came in last night to feed––and I––I forgot to speak to Tom here, and it was dark. He––he laced out and caught me––and that’s where I landed, there against the wall.”
The servant of the “Gov’mint” nodded his comprehension––he nodded it volubly, with deep bows that would have done credit to a dancing master, lest his comprehensions seem in the least bit veiled with doubt. He even clicked his tongue sympathetically, just as the plump newspaper man had done.
“Quite a tap––quite a tap!” he said as soothingly as his uncertain tongue would permit; but he took care to keep a safe distance between himself and his guide 129 when Denny stooped and lifted the lantern and led the way outside.
Now that he was free from that detaining hand upon his shoulder, he contemplated the advisability of a sudden dash for the buggy and flight behind the fat white mare. Nothing but the weakened condition of his own knees and a lack of confidence in her ability to carry him clear kept him from acting instantly upon that impulse. And then the summoning voice of the great blurred figure which had been zigzagging across the grass before him checked him at the very moment of decision.