Thus Lon Gates rambled on for the entertainment of Sam Parker, bustling about his work in the barn the while. It was a fine, clear morning, the air still and crisp, and the snow glittering in the bright sunshine. “Maybe--but this is a bully day,” said Sam cheerfully. There was a twinkle in Lon’s eye. “Lot better’n that other Saturday, when the hedgehog had all his spines on end, eh? Wal, the weather does make a pile o’ difference in the human feelin’s. And, as I was sayin’, we’ve got jest about enough winter to be real comfortable right this minute--plenty of snow for haulin’, and cold enough to fill the bill. Even zero when I got up this mornin’, and ’tain’t more’n ten above now. And it looks ’sif there wouldn’t be a thaw for a good spell. And that’ll help the lumbermen to get out their logs. Your father can tell you what that means to the fellers in the woods.” “I’ve heard him talk about it,” said Sam. Mr. Parker was interested in several tracts of woodland; and though his son never had visited a lumber camp, he had some idea of the methods pursued. “Ought to get him to take you on one of his trips,” Lon observed. “He’ll be makin’ one before long.” “Wish he would!” said Sam. Lon bustled into the harness-room. In a moment Sam heard a sharp exclamation of surprise; and out popped Lon, carrying a heavy collar with dangling traces. “Jest look at that!” he stormed. “Suff’rin’ snakes! but that’s the wust yet! What skunk do you s’pose’d be mean enough to carve a brand new harness that way?” The leather of the collar was deeply gashed in several places, and the traces were almost severed. Sam made close examination of the cuts. “Well, Lon,” he said, “I can’t prove it, of course; but I believe that job was done by the same person who left the water running, and let Maggie’s clean clothes down into the mud, and has been raising all the rest of the hob around here.” “Maybe. Same line o’ business. But who’d do it?” Sam hesitated. “I--I--well, I’ve had a suspicion all along, but lately it has become practically a certainty.” “Speak up! This thing’s past endurin’. Who’s the party?” “Well, everything points to one person.” Sam was trying to show judicial moderation. “Who’s he?” asked Lon impatiently. “Tom Orkney,” said Sam. “What! The kid that ran away?” “Yes.” Lon looked puzzled. “Sure, be you?” “Morally sure.” “Wal, I ain’t, then,” said Lon. “Why ain’t I? Orkney’s been gone two-three days, hain’t he?” “He has.” “Then we’ve got to leave him out. This job was done last night.” It was Sam’s turn to betray bewilderment. “But--but we know he’d be ready to do it, and there’s nobody else who would. And----” “No; you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree!” Lon declared. “I was lookin’ over the harnesses yesterday, and there wa’n’t even a good-sized scratch on this one. So ’twa’n’t Orkney, Sam--not unless he come back to do this ’special.” “But he did the other things,” Sam insisted. “Swear to it, could you?” “Why--why, I could--almost.”