"Well, now, mebbe I kin," drawled the farmer. "War hit a leetle, sawed-off feller with big, starey blue eyes an' yaller haar?" Harris Wayne groaned. His heart had throbbed with hope at the man's first words. Now he leaned back in his seat and pressed his hand over his eyes as if he would shut out, if possible the sight of everything in the world but the one face which was ever before him. His baby! Little Doris! What were they doing to her? Where was she? Whose hands were caring for her! Was she crying, sobbing her little heart out, calling constantly for him, or had they drugged her into insensibility? A thousand such thoughts were continually floating before his mind. He gave no heed to the conversation which now ensued between the Chief and the garrulous farmer. A little chap with blue eyes and fair hair meant nothing to him. For him there was now but one child in the whole world, and that one, Doris. The Chief, however, manifested considerable interest in the farmer's unexpected question. He had had no report of any other lost child. If there was one, he wanted to know about it. He explained that their quest was not for a boy, but for Mr. Wayne's little girl. Of her, the farmer knew nothing but he had a strange story to tell of another farmer, living over by the old turnpike, from whose place he had just come. "Yo' mind thet creepy kind of a critter what tuk over ole Honeycut's place an' datter, Chief, thet feller by name o' Pete Grimes, thet folks allus thought hed a screw er sumpin' loose in his haid?" The Chief nodded.