“Seen anything of a stranger round here named Vane?” asked Jard.
“Nope,” replied Jerry. “Never heard tell of him. What’s he done?”
“He’s got himself in a nasty mess, an’ there’s a bunch of us out a-lookin’ for him. He’s been hit on the head an’ drug away somewheres. We got to hunt through your house an’ barn, Jerry.”
“Go to it. You won’t find no stranger here. I’ll show you round the barns.”
“You set right there an’ go ahead with your breakfast, Jerry. Sammy, you keep an eye on him, and see that he don’t disturb himself. Hold your gun like this. That’s right. But don’t shoot onless you got to. Hunt around, boys. Four of you out to the barn. Upstairs, some of you.”
Pete Sledge was not in evidence among the searchers. He had slipped from the sled and vanished into the murk of snowfall, all unnoticed, just before the house had been reached.
The first farmstead was searched without success. The men of the second team drew a blank at the second house. Jard and his crew drove on to the third house of the settlement. There he found a Dangler with two grownup sons and a hang-over; and but for his firmness there would have been a fight.
“We got you cold, boys,” said Jard. “We mean business. Set still an’ be good or there’ll maybe be a funeral you ain’t figgerin’ on.”
The retort of the householders sounded bad, but there was nothing else to it. Young McPhee and the constable drove up at about this time. The snow was still spinning down moist and thick through the windless air. The searchers went from house to house, appearing suddenly out of the blind gray and white weather at the very door, as unexpected as unwelcome. No warning passed ahead of them. Even old Luke Dangler was caught in his sock-feet, smoking beside the kitchen stove, all unbraced and unready. When he realized the nature of Jard’s visit and the futility of physical resistance, the swift darkening of his eyes and the graying pucker of his mouth were daunting things to behold. He denied all knowledge of the whereabouts or fate of the stranger. He denied it with curses which caused profound uneasiness to the spirits of several of Forkville’s substantial citizens. Doubts assailed them as to the soundness of Miss Hassock’s judgment and the wisdom of their course. They wondered if the life of any one stranger could possibly be worth the risk they were taking. They and their fathers had put up with the habits and customs of the Danglers of Goose Creek for over one hundred years. This attitude had acquired the dignity of a tradition. Was it wise to break with tradition now on the question of whether or not a stranger in trick pants and a fancy mackinaw were dead or alive?
Nothing of Vane was discovered on or about old Luke’s premises. Then the deputy sheriff of the county appeared suddenly in the midst of the searchers. He drew Jard Hassock aside and asked for a description of the missing stranger. Jard complied; and the official nodded his head alertly.