“A trap!” cried Ben, his face flushing and then swiftly paling and his eyes darkling. “A trap in this house! To hurt some one in need of bread! If he wasn’t your brother I’d—I’d——”
“Same here!” muttered Uncle Jim.
“I didn’t know until this morning,” continued Mrs. O’Dell, glancing from her son to her brother with horrified eyes. “I found it outside, with an ax lying beside it. He had pried it open with the ax. There was blood on it. I—I went over to see Ian then—he’d gone home early—and I saw him and told him what—how I felt. I think he understood—but that won’t help the—the person who was hurt.”
She was on the verge of tears but Ben comforted her.
Ben and Jim McAllister spent the remainder of the afternoon in searching the woods for the poor fellow who had put his hand into the trap. Ben was sure that the person whom they sought was Sherwood and Uncle Jim agreed with him; but whoever the unfortunate thief might be, Ben felt that he was entitled to apologies and surgical aid and an explanation. These things were due to the sufferer and also to the good name of O’Dell. In setting a trap to catch a hungry thief in the O’Dell house Ian McAllister had flouted a great tradition of kindness and smudged the honor of an honorable family.
The woods were wide, the ground was dry and showed no tracks, the underbrush was thick. Their search was in vain. They shouted words of encouragement a score of times, at the top of their voices, but received no reply.
The three talked late that night after the little girl had gone to bed. Ben was determined to follow up the clew which he had obtained on French River immediately and personally, to save the poor fellow who had once been his father’s friend from the blundering of the law and from destruction by his own fears. And not entirely for the sake of the old friendship, perhaps. There was their guest to consider, the brave child upstairs. His mother and uncle saw the justice of his reasoning, but without enthusiasm. His mother felt uneasy for him, afraid to have him to go to a big city on such a mission. He had been away from home for months at a time during the past six or seven years, but that had been very different. He had been at school in a quiet town on the river, among people she knew. And she feared that his efforts in Sherwood’s behalf would interrupt his education. She said very little of all this, however, for she knew that in this matter her son’s vision was clearer and braver and less selfish than her own. Uncle Jim felt no anxiety concerning Ben, for his faith in that youth had grown mightily of late, but he wanted to know what was to become of the harvest.
It was decided that a good Indian or two should be hired to help McAllister with the harvesting of the oats, barley and buckwheat, and that Ben should go to Woodstock next day and discuss Richard Sherwood’s unhappy situation with Judge Smith and return to O’Dell’s Point for a night at least before going farther. Mrs. O’Dell and Uncle Jim would do everything they could to find Sherwood and reassure him. All three were convinced by now that Sherwood and the unfortunate thief were one, in spite of the fact that the red dogs had behaved as if the thief were an old and trusted friend.
Ben set out for Woodstock after an early breakfast. The long drive was uneventful. The road was in excellent condition for a road of its kind, the mare was the best of her kind on the upper river, the sun shone and the miles rolled steadily and peacefully back under the rubber tires of the light buggy.
Ben stabled the mare at the Aberdeen House stables, saw her rubbed dry and watered and fed, then sat down to his own dinner. He was well along with his meal when Deputy Sheriff Brown walked into the hotel dining room, turned around twice as a dog does before it lies down, then advanced upon Ben’s table. Ben felt slightly embarrassed. He saw that Mr. Brown’s face still showed something of the effects of their last meeting. The deputy sheriff held out his hand and Ben arose and took it.