"Things look bad, Mr. Wilford. Your wife and Lawry know more than they are willing to tell," continued the officer. "You have scared them half out of their wits," replied the ferryman, trying to smile. "It isn't likely we can find out anything here," said the constable. "If he has got the money, he has hid it round the house somewhere." Adopting this suggestion, the officers, followed by Mr. Randall, left the cottage to examine the vicinity. The constable was a shrewd man, and for a country locality, quite distinguished as a thief-taker. The shower early in the afternoon had left the ground in condition to receive the tracks of every individual who had been near the ferry. The sharp officer examined all the marks in the earth, and finally followed the footsteps of John Wilford, through a corn-field, above the cottage. Mrs. Wilford and Lawry wept as though their hearts would break, while the ferryman, trembling with apprehension, paced the kitchen. "What are you crying for?" said he impatiently. "Oh, John!" sobbed his wife. "Nothing has been proved." "Yes, there has. You told me you had given the money to Mr. Randall." "You told me you would restore it to the owner, when I gave you the pocketbook," added Lawry. "Lawry, if you say a word about it, you shall go to jail with me," said Mr. Wilford angrily. CHAPTER VII "THE FERRYMAN'S CRIME" Mr. Wilford, in spite of his faults and peculiarities, was a kind father, and never before had been heard to utter such terrible words as those which had just passed his lips. It was a consolation to Lawry and his mother to believe that the words were only a threat which was never intended to be executed, and only made to awe the youth into silence. It was needless; for, right or wrong, the son would have died rather than betray his father. John Wilford's operations in hiding the money were as transparent as his efforts to quiet the suspicions of his family. The constable followed his tracks in the soft ground of the corn-field till he came to a stump in one corner of the lot. It was decayed and hollow, and in one of the cavities the pocketbook was discovered. Mr. Randall laughed for joy when it was handed up to him. Its contents were undisturbed, and not a dollar of the money was missing. The party walked back to the house, having been absent less than half an hour. The ferryman was just coming out as they entered the gate. "I hope you are satisfied," said he, confident that the officers would never think of crossing the corn-field in search of the lost treasure. "I'm satisfied, Mr. Wilford," said the sheriff. "Don't you think it is a mean thing to come here and accuse me of robbing one of my passengers?" continued the ferryman. "I don't think so." "In my opinion, Mr. Randall hasn't lost any money. I don't believe a man would throw his coat down anywhere if there was six thousand dollars in the pocket."