“Wa'al, no,” said Ezekiel, thoughtfully. “The last idea was that he'd got control of the hoss after passin' the bridge, and had managed to turn him back, for there was marks of buggy wheels on the snow on the far side, and that fearin' to trust the hoss or the bridge he tried to lead him over when the bridge gave way, and he was caught in the wreck and carried off down stream. That would account for his body not bein' found; they do tell that chunks of that bridge were picked up on the Sound beach near the mouth o' the river, nigh unto sixty miles away. That's about the last idea they had of it at North Liberty.” He paused and then cleverly directing a stream of tobacco juice at an accurate curve over the railing, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and added, slowly: “Thar's another idea--but I reckon it's only mine. Leastways I ain't heard it argued by anybody.” “What is that?” asked Demorest. “Wa'al, it ain't exakly complimentary to E. Blandford, Esq., and it mout be orkard for YOU.” “I don't think you're in the habit of letting such trifles interfere with your opinion,” said Demorest, with a slightly forced laugh; “but what is your idea?” “That thar wasn't any accident.” “No accident?” replied Demorest, raising himself on his elbow. “Nary accident,” continued Ezekiel, deliberately, “and, if it comes to that, not much of a dead body either.” “What the devil do you mean?” said Demorest, sitting up. “I mean,” said Ezekiel, with momentous deliberation, “that E. Blandford, of the Winnipeg Mills, was in March, '50, ez nigh bein' bust up ez any man kin be without actually failin'; that he'd been down to Boston that day to get some extensions; that old Deacon Salisbury knew it, and had been pesterin' Mrs. Blandford to induce him to sell out and leave the place; and that the night he left he took about two hundred and fifty dollars in bank bills that they allus kept in the house, and Mrs. Blandford was in the habit o' hidin' in the breast-pocket of one of his old overcoats hangin' up in the closet. I mean that that air money and that air overcoat went off with him, ez Mrs. Blandford knows, for I heard her tell her ma about it. And when his affairs were wound up and his debts paid, I reckon that the two hundred and fifty was all there was left--and he scooted with it. It's orkard for you--ez I said afore--but I don't see wot on earth you need get riled for. Ef he ran off on account of only two hundred and fifty dollars he ain't goin' to run back again for the mere matter o' your marrying Joan. Ef he had--he'd a done it afore this. It's orkard ez I said--but the only orkardness is your feelin's. I reckon Joan's got used to hers.”