"What do you make of it?" asked Jim, as he slowly folded the slip of paper and put it in my hand.
"Well, I may be amiss in my interpretation, but it seems to me that we had better be awake to-night. The moon has waned; it will be very dark at ten o'clock. I fancy that we may be wise if we prepare for this party. I don't know who B—— may stand for, but there is, at Clyde, a man, who is a friend of Dwight's, and whose name is Larkins."
"Larkins! To be sure; the man is often in Trafton."
"Exactly. He appears like a good-natured rustic, but he is a good judge of a horse. Do you know of a place in this vicinity called The Corners?"
"No."
"Well, you are probably aware that the south road forks, just two miles north of Clyde, and that the road running east goes to the river, and the coal beds. It would not be a long drive from Amora to these corners, and Larkins is only two miles off from them. Both Dwight and Larkins own good teams."
"Ah!" ejaculated Jim, in a tone which conveyed a world of meaning. "Ah, yes!" Then after a moment's silence, and looking me squarely in the face, "what do you want me to do?"
"Our movements must be regulated by theirs. We must see Warren and all the others."
"All?"