“Sure I know old Luke Dangler. My own name’s Dangler, an’ I come from Goose Crick myself. He’s got a couple of young uns of the right color, an’ the right lines. Say, I guess ye’re the gent who drug old Dave Hinch an’ Joe out of the fire?”
“Yes, I happened along just in time.”
“I’ll say so. But why ain’t you been out to see Luke Dangler before this? It ain’t far to his place.”
“I was thinking of calling on him to-morrow.”
“D’ye know the way to Goose Crick?”
“I’ll find it, don’t worry. Hassock will start me right.”
“Sure he’ll start you right, an’ it’s a straight road once you git started; an’ you’ll find the old man all ready to talk horse. I’ll tell him ye’re comin’.”
Steve Dangler went away, puzzled, but still suspicious. Vane was not exactly what he had expected to find. The only thing in which the stranger had met expectations was the matter of lying. He had lied concerning his knowledge of the road to Goose Creek, but in everything else he had proved unexpected. His manner was not that of any enforcement officer known to or imagined by Steve. It was the manner of the best type of “sport” known to Steve, of the two-guides sportsman. And the talk about wanting to buy a horse! That was clever. He’d picked up the dope from Jard Hassock, of course—but it was smart. But it didn’t fool Steve. If the stranger had wanted to see old Luke’s horses, why had he tried to sneak into the settlement in the middle of the night—unless he’d figured on stealing one? No, even Steve could not seriously suspect him of being a horse-thief. He was some sort of damn detective looking for something he knew they wouldn’t show to him, that’s what he was.
Steve went home and made his report and as many comments on the subject of the same as old Luke had patience to listen to. Then Steve was dismissed, Amos and Hen called in by the old man, and many methods of eliminating the dangerous stranger from the existing scheme of things on Goose Creek were discussed. Amos was a crafty plotter. He had a strong imagination of the crafty and destructive sort, and a genius for detail. No man had ever escaped from a plot of his planning except by chance.
Vane was at a loss to know what to do next. His curiosity concerning the Danglers of Goose Creek was now quite as keen as his distaste for them, and both his distaste and curiosity were keener than his original purpose in visiting Forkville. It was still his intention to obtain a young animal of the Willoughby Girl strain, a bay with white legs, for choice; but to deal these Danglers a blow of some sort seemed to him now a more worthy and more intriguing ambition. Something of the kind was due them. Something of the nature of a nasty set-back had been due them for years and years. He decided to have another session with Pete Sledge.