[CHAPTER XVIII]
THE PRESCOTT PUZZLE
"Yes, sir—ter my mind, he's plumb crazy."
"Big Bill" Dugan, the stage-driver, wearing his usual sour expression, growled these words, as he stood, late one afternoon, on the Resort House porch.
There was the usual crowd present, sitting and lounging around, and "Big Bill's" harsh voice was loud enough to reach them all. Sile Stringer, the old man of Mountain Village, who had been half dozing in a chair, sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Plumb crazy—who's plumb crazy, Bill Dugan?" he quavered.
"When I says a thing, Stringer, I says it oncet," growled Bill. "If yer can't listen, I——"
"Who's plumb crazy?"
"Jest listen at him!" The lines above Dugan's nose deepened. "That feller over ter Promontory."