“Nobody answers, eh? That’s funny. Give me Burke, then, please, central. Oh, I say. You don’t know where Larry is, do you? Petersen is on his route and—What? Yes, please. If you locate him, tell him to go to Petersen’s, find out about the fire, and call me up. Yes, I’ll be at the station. Oh, hello, Burke. This is Chester. I wish you would ride over to Petersen’s and take a look at that fire. Yes, the sooner you can let me know the better.”
“Do you often have a fire break out on a rainy day?” asked Ted, as the lookout swung around in his chair, after setting down his telephone instrument.
“That’s just the point exactly,” said Chester, evidencing that the young homesteader’s remark had fitted in with his own train of thought. “No ordinary fire could break out after the soaking everything has had for the last twelve hours, though the sun will be shining again in a couple more.”
“Maybe it’s his house,” suggested Ted.
“That wouldn’t make so much smoke. It’s hardly big enough to turn round in.”
“Then why not ride down and find out? Is it far?”
“Not very, but I want to wait here until I get a report.”
The expression on the boy’s face, as he heard this statement, showed that he considered the lookout to be shirking his duties and, noting it, Chester said:
“I know what’s in your mind. You think I’m too lazy to ride a few miles in the rain. It isn’t that”; then he paused a moment, and looked searchingly at his visitor before continuing: “You seem like the right sort. If you weren’t, Andy Howe, Steve Anderson, and Si Hopkins wouldn’t lift a finger for you, let alone doing all they could to help you. The point is this. We are suspicious of Petersen. He’s had trouble with all his neighbours. He set up a sawmill last winter, and they caught him cutting trees beyond his lines. To cover this, he cut down the corner trees. The matter is in court.”
“And he tried to steal one of our horses. But how would a fire help him?”