Tony nearly sank to the floor as he felt his hand grasped by that of the stout man, while a pair of dark eyes scanned him keenly.
"I had some curiosity to meet you," said Mr. Morrison, after his scrutiny, "as my son has a habit of picking up some rather peculiar friends. In this instance, I think he has shown much wisdom, considering his usual lack of judgment."
Both father and son laughed at this, and then the senior Morrison looked at his watch.
"It is about nine o'clock," he remarked. "Have you seen anything this morning of the stranger from Scaly Brook? I think you said he was to be on hand at that time."
"He is standing by the door now," replied Tony, a certain feeling of strength creeping over him, which he could not account for.
"In that case, I will go with you to Mr. Furbush's," said Mr. Morrison.
The Morrisons, father and son, and Tony left the store at once, and, accompanied by the red-bearded stranger, proceeded to Mr. Furbush's.
They found that gentleman at home. They were scarcely seated when the senior Morrison said, somewhat abruptly:
"I called, in company with my son, to have a plain talk with you. Of course, as game-warden, you only did your duty in taking the captured deer. The Loring boy was not to blame; my son was the responsible party."
"You mean the guilty party," rejoined Mr. Furbush. "Any one who commits a crime is considered guilty."