Through an uncurtained window, the pair glimpsed a tall, wiry woman filling an oil lamp in the kitchen.
As Salt rapped on the door, they saw her start and reach quickly for a shotgun which stood in a corner of the room.
“Who’s there?” she called sharply.
“We’re from Riverview,” answered Penny.
Reassured by a feminine voice, the woman opened the door. She towered above them, a quaint figure in white shirtwaist and a long flowing black skirt which swept the bare floor of the kitchen.
“Good evening,” said Penny. “I hope we didn’t startle you.”
Slowly the widow’s eyes traveled over the pair. She laid the shotgun aside and then said evenly:
“’Pears like you did. Hain’t in the habit o’ having visitors this time o’ night. Whar be ye from and what do you want?”
Salt told of their search for Jerry, carefully describing the reporter.
“Hain’t seen anyone like that,” the Widow Jones said at once. “No one been by on this road since sundown ’cepting old Ezekiel Hawkins.”