“Is her cabin shut up?”
“It is,” I said curtly.
“Well, I swan! Say, did she take the kid with her?”
“She took the little boy with her, certainly.”
He grinned, showing blackened teeth and unsightly gums. “Um,” he said, half shutting his red-lidded eyes, “um, um—you’re Mr. Dale, I take it; I have seen you in the village.”
“Yes, I am David Dale,” I answered straightening up. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
He guffawed. “No,” he chuckled, “you can’t do a darn thing for me, but you bet your gosh darned boots I can do something for you.”
I turned away in disgust.
“Say, partner,” he pulled me round to him by the sleeve, “I reckon that Mrs. Batterly took the kid with her thinking the kid was hern. Well, he ain’t!”
I gaped at him. He grinned at me in a would-be friendly manner.