“Alone?” said Johnston. “It’s gettin’ toward dark, too. Hadn’t I better go with you?”
“I shall be gone but a few moments,” said the professor with some impatience. “It was my design, in case I found any further imprints to bring back the rocks in the wheelbarrow for careful inspection.”
“You go in and get your revolver, Professor,” said Johnston, “and I’ll have Henkle run the barrow up there for ye.”
Henkle was a young Swedish boy, known to possess no English and suspected of having little more wits. With some difficulty he was made to understand what was expected of him; so, having had the barrow handles inserted in his hard young palms, and the professor pointed out to him he patiently trudged along in the wake of the savant, out across the hollows.
In a brief time the professor had found indications on half a dozen of the rocks. Glowing with enthusiasm, he loaded them into the barrow, and set a homeward pace, that made the sturdy little Swede gasp before he had covered half the distance.
McDale, the reporter for one of the “yellow” papers, saw them from his window, coming into the yard.
“A good chance to get something from the professor,” he thought, and ran down to accost him.
Henkle, the Swede boy, hung about, open-mouthed and staring stupidly.
“Go away. You’re through. Skip!” said McDale, indicating dismissal with a sweeping gesture.
Unfortunately the sweep of his arm was toward the field whence the pair had just come with their find. The tired boy uncomplainingly picked up the handles of his barrow again and trudged away, unnoticed by the professor, who was now deep in the study of the first rock.