“Such a subterfuge is palpably puerile. According to all reports, young Grant, since appearing in this town, has plainly shown himself to be a vicious and undesirable character—such a boy as must contaminate those with whom he associates. He has likewise shown what he is by choosing as companions the worst boys of Oakdale.”
“Got your hammer out, old man,” growled Lander. “You’re one of the kind that don’t want to give a feller no show, and there’s plenty of ’em ’round here. Mebbe you think your own son is a little white saint, but——”
“Silence, you young reprobate!” cried Mr. Barker, rising to his feet. “You’ve been watched since you came back here, and——”
“Oh, yes, I’ve been watched—I know it. Give a chap a black name and then kick him is the way they do hereabouts.”
Grant’s calm defiance had stiffened Lander’s backbone, and he was not at all terrified by the aspect of Mr. Barker.
“Without no cause,” he went on, “your son’s tried to soak Rod Grant, and it’s made him madder’n a hornet ’cause he ain’t come out of his tricks with flying colors. If I’d been in Rod’s place, he’d found himself up against something hot long ago.”
“Never mind taking up my battle, Lander,” said Rodney. “I reckon I can take care of myself. All I ask of you is that you stick to the straight truth and don’t let any one frighten you into lying.”
“That’s what they was tryin’ to do. They was even callin’ up that old scrape and tryin’ to make me believe something would be done if I didn’t go back on you and tell a mess of stuff that wasn’t true. They can’t prove anything against ye, Rod; the straight facts make an alibi, as they call it in law, and they’ll never git only straight goods from me.”
Satisfied now that, in spite of the seeming incriminating evidence of the handkerchief, his enemy could prove nothing, Grant uttered a bold defiance:
“I’m here. If they want to arrest me let them do so. Have you a warrant for me, Mr. Pickle?”