"I ain't kicking," said Anderson dryly. "The State pays my fees for an inquest. Good-by."
Ten minutes later Guy and Rufe were in a hired buggy, with Dandy in the shafts, spinning lightly homeward over the sandy roads.
It was dusk when they reached the gate.
"So you've brought the horse back," came a sharp voice as Rufe pulled up in front of the stable. "A mighty good job you did. Take him out and tie him up. Then you can sling your hook as fast as you like."
"What for should I git from my boss' land?" asked Rufe with such a delightfully innocent air that Guy, close by under a tree, almost laughed out loud.
"Git!" Deacon roared, "or by——"
A muscular hand gripped him by the back of the neck, and cut short his sentence.
Deacon squirmed round. His eyes fell on Guy Hereford; he gave a scream like a woman's, and dropped as if he'd been shot in the head.
"Now, Oliver," said Guy quietly. "Perhaps you'll be good enough to explain what the thunder you mean by coming and camping on my property."
The man rose slowly to his feet, and his eyes were venomous. "So you tricked me," he ground out between clinched teeth.