“Hold yer hosses a minute! You can trust me. I love a Dangler like a lad goin’ a-courtin’ loves to meet a skunk.”
“So you say, but I’m not so sure of it as I was a while ago. To be quite frank with you, there was someone behind me to-night—and whoever he was, he was in league with the Danglers.”
“There was two behind you to-night. Two. An’ I was only one of ’em. T’other was young Steve Dangler. But Steve didn’t know I was there, which was a pity for him, but a good thing for me an’ you. I didn’t reckon you’d have sense enough to take to the woods, so I up an’ beaned Steve so’s to clear the road behind you.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It sure is. But come along away from here. Come with me.”
Pete led Vane to his own little barn behind his little house and up a ladder into a little hay loft. From this loft, through a crack between two weather-warped boards, one could watch the road from the top of the hill all the way down through the village to the covered bridge. Vane kept in close touch with his guide, ready for anything. They sat down on fragrant hay; and Pete kept his eye on the crack and Vane kept an eye on Pete.
“What was you expectin’ to find on Goose Crick?” asked Pete.
“A horse,” replied Vane, after a moment’s pause. “You are welcome to the information—and so is old Luke Dangler. Now what about it?”
“A horse?”
“That’s what I said—and it’s exactly what I mean.”