The backwater proved to be the stream that Pud had glimpsed last night, turning off to the left just past the last cabin on the creek-bank. It was shallow and muddy and came to an end not far distant where a cedar thicket massed itself closely and darkly. There were three cabins along it, one on the left side and two on the right. Good-sized patches of tobacco or corn flanked them and spread back for some way. Getting to the last landing, a log raft tied to stakes in the muddy bank, was skittish work for the launch, but she finally came within hailing distance of the small cabin and a shout from the sheriff brought a thin, stooped, pale-faced man around a corner of it. CHAPTER XX TALLY MOORE TALKS ‘Reckon you’re Tally Moore,’ said the sheriff amiably. The man, pausing on the top of the low bank, looked them over suspiciously. Finally his gaze fell on the skiff, bumping astern, and his faded eyes lighted a little. He nodded, as though agreeing to something he was more than doubtful of. ‘Well, I’m sheriff up to Livermore. These boys came across this skiff yesterday and Jeff Gosling said he thought it belonged to you. If so, here ’tis. ’Course,’ added the sheriff, laughing jokingly, ‘you’ll have to prove your title to it!’ ‘It’s mine,’ said Tally in a hoarse voice that sounded much too large for his thin body. ‘Lost it two-three days ago.’ ‘Lost it, did you? That’s funny now. The men that had it said they’d hired it from you. Maybe it isn’t the one, after all.’ Tally Moore’s gaze shifted. ‘Well, come to think of it, I did let them fellers take it. Said they wanted a boat to fish in. I never seen ’em afore, but they looked respec’able and I let ’em have it. Strangers roun’ here, they was.’ ‘I see,’ answered the sheriff carelessly. ‘Reckon they lied to you, Moore, for they gave the skiff to these boys here.’ ‘No, they didn’t,’ began the owner. Then he stopped. ‘Maybe they told you they didn’t,’ chuckled the sheriff, ‘but the boys said they did. What did they tell you now?’ ‘I ain’t seen ’em since,’ muttered Tally. ‘I see.’ The sheriff’s gaze roamed along the bank. Several stakes were driven into it at intervals and two of them still held rusty chains and padlocks. ‘Sort of left you without anything to get around in, didn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Brodie, over there, he lets me have his punt when I want it,’ said Tally. ‘Reckon you sold your motor-boat, too,’ the sheriff mused. Tally’s eyes widened, then dropped quickly. ‘I ain’t had a power-boat for a good while,’ he muttered. ‘What do you call a good while?’ asked the other, his eyes twinkling. ‘’Bout twelve hours?’ ‘Now, you look ahere,’ replied Tally querulously. ‘I ain’t goin’ answer no more fool questions. I got my work to do, I have.’ ‘Won’t keep you much longer,’ said the sheriff soothingly. ‘How much did you get for the power-boat?’ ‘That’s my private affair,’ answered the man with sullen dignity.