Old Jerry was in no mental condition to realize that that last statement was untinged by any lurking sarcasm. He was able to think of but one thing. The hand upon his shoulder had loosened its grip. Slowly the little man turned--turned with infinite caution, and what he considered was a very capable attitude of self-defense. And for a moment he refused to believe his own eyes--refused to believe that, in place of the threat of sudden death which he had expected, Young Denny was merely standing there before him, pointing with his free hand at a dark, almost damp stain upon the dusty woodwork behind the stalls. It flashed through his brain then that Denny Bolton had not merely gone the way of the other Boltons--it was not the jug alone that had stood in the kitchen corner, but something far worse than that. "I got to humor him," he told himself, although he was shivering uncontrollably. "I got to keep a grip on myself and kinda humor him." And aloud, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, he murmured: "What--what is it?" "Couldn't you guess--if you had to?" Denny made the suggestion with appalling calm. Old Jerry clenched his teeth to still their chattering. "Maybe I could--maybe I could;" and his voice was a little stronger. "I--I'd say it was blood, I reckon, if anyone asked me." Without a word the boy set the lantern down and walked across the barn to lay one hand upon the flank of the nervous animal in the nearest stall. "That's what it is," he stated slowly; and again he touched the wound on his chin gingerly. "From this," he went on. "I came in last night to feed--and I--I forgot to speak to Tom here, and it was dark. He--he laced out and caught me--and that's where I landed, there against the wall." The servant of the "Gov'mint" nodded his comprehension--he nodded it volubly, with deep bows that would have done credit to a dancing master, lest his comprehensions seem in the least bit veiled with doubt. He even clicked his tongue sympathetically, just as the plump newspaper man had done. "Quite a tap--quite a tap!" he said as soothingly as his uncertain tongue would permit; but he took care to keep a safe distance between himself and his guide when Denny stooped and lifted the lantern and led the way outside. Now that he was free from that detaining hand upon his shoulder, he contemplated the advisability of a sudden dash for the buggy and flight behind the fat white mare. Nothing but the weakened condition of his own knees and a lack of confidence in her ability to carry him clear kept him from acting instantly upon that impulse. And then the summoning voice of the great blurred figure which had been zigzagging across the grass before him checked him at the very moment of decision. Young Denny had stopped beside a sapling that stood in a direct line with the kitchen window, and was pointing down at a heap of broken crockery that lay at its foot.