“Lemme go on! P’raps this ’d never be’n faound aout, ef yer brother hadn’t made mistake number tew in pickin’ aout the wust ’n’ meanest cuss in th’ caounty to be his gao-between. I kin tell mean cusses when I see ’em, ’n’ this feller he had was jest _the_ dirtiest scalawag I ever did see. I kin stan’ a scoundrel in a way ef he’s bright abaout it, but this was a reg’lar, natchul born fool. Somehaow in th’ kentry, these men don’t seem to hev no sense. Ef they’re goin’ to rob a man, or set his barns afire, or kill him, they dew it in the darnedest, clumsiest saort o’ way, so they’re sure to git faound aout the minute anybody looks an inch beyond his nose into th’ thing. It makes a man ashamed to be a kentry-man to see th’ foolish way these here blockheads git caught, ev’ry time.” The women had been listening intently to this monologue. They looked at one another now, with the light of a strange new suspicion in their eyes. “Who is this man? Who are you talking about?” Seth asked eagerly. At that moment the sound of a stove being shaken vigorously came from the living-room. The Sheriff rose to his feet, and strode toward the door of this room. “I’ll shaow him to yeh in th’ jerk of a lamb’s tail,” he said. ***** The conversation in the living-room, after Milton entered, had been trivial for a time, then all at once very interesting. He had been disagreeably surprised at finding three men with John, but had taken a seat, his big hands hanging awkwardly over his knees, and had been reassured somewhat by the explanation that Mr. Hubbard, the dead man’s partner, was anxious to hear all he could about the sad occurrence. The District Attorney he did not know by sight, and he did not recognize Ansdell, who stood looking out of the window, softly drumming on the panes. Milton told a lot of details, about Albert’s return, about hitching up the grays for him, about how the news was received at the Convention and the like, all recited with verbose indirectness, and at great length. Once he stopped, his attention being directed to a slight sound in the parlor, and looked inquiry. John promptly explained that it was the undertaker, and the hired man went on. At last the District Attorney, who had hitherto been silent, asked quietly: “You went back to the stable--to your own room--after Mr. Fairchild drove away?” “Yes, ’n’ went to bed.” “Did you hear any one enter the stables afterward?” “No, nary a soul.” “There is a black mare in the stables, used under the saddle. Was she taken out that night?” “Not thet I knaow of. Why?” “Well, there seems to be a pretty positive story that she was. She was seen on the road, in fact, late that night, coming from the ravine. The rider was not recognized, but the mare was. How do you account for that?” “Tain’t none o’ my business to ’caount for it.” Milton did not like the tendency of the conversation.