“Don’t you want to know who it was? It isn’t probable you can help finding out, for all the fellows know now, and some of them have told the sneak a few things.”
“I don’t opine,” laughed Rod, “they’ll break their necks hurrying to tell me.”
“Oh, there’s been a decided change of opinion about you. If it wasn’t for that dog-shooting affair, I believe you’d be surprised to find a great many chaps ready to become friendly.”
“What do you think about that dog shooting, Stone?”
“I’m dead sure you didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Thanks. But of late even you have apparently been influenced by the rising tide of popular prejudice against one Rodney Grant.”
“No,” denied Ben—“no, indeed; but of late you have held yourself away from everybody. Why, you scarcely spoke to me when we met.”
“Being plenty unpopular,” said Rod, “I allowed I wouldn’t involve you. I was independent enough to believe I could paddle my own canoe. I’ve observed that about nine times out of ten things work themselves out if you let them alone. I’ll guarantee the truth concerning the shooting of Barker’s hound will be known in time.”
“I hope so, Rod, as that would come pretty near putting you fully and squarely right in Oakdale. Hunk Rollins’ letter has——”
“So it was Rollins,” said Rodney quietly. “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”