“It was your button we found,” Sara accused.
Peter Jasko had been listening intently to the argument, taking little part in it. But now, with a quick movement which belied his age, he moved across the kitchen toward the gun rack on the wall.
“Let’s be getting out of here,” muttered Harvey Maxwell.
He and Ralph Fergus both bolted out of the door. Their sudden flight delighted Sara who broke into a fit of laughter.
“Why don’t you shoot once or twice into the air just to give ’em a good fright?” she asked her grandfather.
The old man, shotgun in hand, had followed the two men to the door. But he did not shoot.
“Grandfather wouldn’t hurt a flea really,” chuckled Sara. “At least, not unless it was trying to make him sign something.”
“Ralph Fergus acted guilty, all right,” declared Penny, bending down to massage her injured ankle. “But it may have been a mistake for us to accuse him.”
“I couldn’t help it,” answered Sara. “When I saw that button missing from his coat, I had to say something about it.”
Peter Jasko put away his shotgun, turning once more to the door. “I’ll hitch up the team,” he said. “Sara, get some liniment and see what you can do for Miss Parker’s ankle.”