“Too bad!” sighed Abner. “I 'll bet it hurt Alan to see you in that fix.” “Well, he didn't complain,” said Pole. “But he put his arm around me an' come as nigh cryin' as I ever seed a strong man. 'It's my fault, Pole,' ses he. 'I can see that.' Then him an' Miller both tried to git me to go up-stairs in that fine house an' go to bed an' sleep it off, but I wouldn't. I come on home an' got mad at Sally fer talkin' to me, an' come as nigh as peas hittin' 'er in the jaw. But that's over, Uncle Ab. What I'm in fer now is work. I ain't no fool. I'm on a still hunt, an' I jest want yore private opinion. I don't want you to commit yorese'f, unless you want to; but I'd go more on yore jedgment than any man' s in this county. I want to know ef you think old Craig is a honest man at heart. Now don't say you don't know, an' keep yore mouth shet; fer what I want to know, an' _all_ I want to know, is how you feel about that one thing.” Abner hung his head down. His long thumb trembled as its nail went under a splinter on the rail and pried it off. “I see what you are a-drivin' at,” he said. “You jest want to feel shore o' yore ground.” Abner began to chew the splinter and spit out the broken bits. He was silent, under Pole's anxious gaze, for a minute, and then he laughed dryly. “I reckon me 'n' you has about the same suspicions,” he said. “That p'int's been worryin' me fer several days, an' I didn't let it end, thar nuther.” “Ah! you didn't?” exclaimed Baker. “You say you didn't, Uncle Ab?” “No; I got so I couldn't lie down at night without the idea poppin' into my head that maybe Craig had made a tool of Winship fer some minor crime an' had hustled 'im out o' the country so he could gobble up what was in the bank an' pose as a injured man in the community.” “Same heer, pine blank!” said Pole, eagerly. “What did you do, Uncle Ab?”