Mr. Levin nodded to the two boys and strolled across the sun-dial lawn to his own buggy, well satisfied that another convert to the Weather Bureau work had been made. About ten days after this meeting, after supper, just as Anton was going to bed, his father came in with a grave face. "I'm afraid Dan'l's in a peck of trouble," he said. "Why, Father?" asked the crippled lad. "He's accused of having shot Carl Lindstrom," was the startling reply. "But he couldn't!" declared Anton, jumping at once to the defence of the darky. "Well," his father said, "it looks a little black for him. I don't mean, of course, that there's anything purposed, but it looks as if Dan'l had been careless with his gun. Carl was shot in the leg this evening, just as we heard. Now it appears that, about the same time, Dan'l was seen walking with his gun and his two old hounds at his heels, coming from that direction along the levee." "Oh, I'm sure it can't be Dan'l," said Anton. "Where is he?" "In his cabin, under arrest," his father said. "The sheriff's there. Dan'l seems quite excited about it and he said he wouldn't move until he saw you." "Sure," said Anton, reaching out for his crutch. "I know well enough he didn't do it, though." He hurried across the sun-dial to the negro's quarters. It was a poignant scene that Anton faced when he reached the hut. Dan'l was sitting on the bed, in shirt and trousers, evidently having just been awakened from sleep. The sheriff, tall and rangy, showed little interest in the affair. To him it was a clear case. The man had been shot. The negro had been seen in the neighborhood with a gun. What more proof could any one want? The brother of the man who had been shot, a nervous, excitable chap, was there and wanted to lynch Dan'l immediately. One of the sheriff's men, keen and watchful, stood beside his prisoner, his hand on the negro's shoulder. "Ah never done it, Mistah Anton," said Dan'l, as the boy came in, "Ah never done nothin'!" "I've brought Anton, Dan'l," said the father, quietly, "but it doesn't do you any good to say anything. They'll only make use of everything you say." "Ah've got nothin' to say," the darky declared. "Ah jes' went after some rabbit an' come home. Ah've been in my bed since a little after sundown." "You couldn't ha' been," declared the sheriff, "'cause the injured man wa'n't shot till it was nigh dark." "What time was the shooting?" asked Anton. "Between a quarter and a half after eight," the sheriff replied coolly, "we know that much fo' sure, any way. And Dan'l can't show an alibi. He says he was in bed. His bed can't give evidence in court. Yo' didn't see him, Anton?" "No," the boy answered, "I haven't been out of the house since seven o'clock except just to my rain-gauge." "Well," said the sheriff, yawning, "that's yo' last chance, Dan'l. If Anton had seen yo', there'd have been a witness. But yo' ain't got none and Ole Lindstrom, here, declares that he seen yo' jes' afore it got dark."