Bathed in the benignancy of bland Indian summer, Cap'n Sproul and his friend Hiram Look surveyed these arrivals from the porch of the Sproul house. At the gate, with some apprehensiveness, Mr. Bodge gave Mr. Crowther precedence. As usual when returning from the deep woods, Mr. Crowther was bringing a trophy. This time it was a three-legged lynx, which sullenly squatted on its haunches and allowed itself to be dragged through the dust by a rope tied into its collar. "You needn't be the least mite afeard of that bobcat," protested Mr. Crowther, cheerily; "he's a perfick pet, and wouldn't hurt the infant in its cradle." The cat rolled back its lips and snarled. Mr. Bodge retreated as nimbly as a man with a peg-leg could be expected to move. "I got him out of a trap and cured his leg, and he's turrible grateful," continued Mr. Crowther. But Mr. Bodge trembled even to his mat of red beard as he backed away. "Him and me has got so's we're good friends, and I call him Robert--Bob for short," explained the captor, wistfully. "You call him off--that's what you call him," shouted Mr. Bodge. "I hain't had one leg chawed off by a mowin'-machine to let a cust hyeny chaw off the other. Git out of that gateway. I've got business here with these gents." "So've I," returned Mr. Crowther, meekly; and he went in, dragging his friend. "I done your arrunt," he announced to the Cap'n. "I cruised them timberlands from Dan to Beersheby, and I'm ready to state facts and figgers." "Go ahead and state," commanded the Cap'n. "I reckon it better be in private," advised the other, his pale-blue eyes resting dubiously on Hiram. "I ain't got no secrets from him," said the Cap'n, smartly. "Break cargo!" "You'll wish you heard it in private," persisted Mr. Crowther, with deep meaning. "It ain't northin' you'll be proud of." "I'll run along, I guess!" broke in the old showman. "It may be something--" "It ain't," snapped the Cap'n. "It's only about them timberlands that my wife owned with her brother, Colonel Gideon Ward. Estate wasn't divided when the old man Ward died, and since we've been married I've had power of attorney from my wife to represent her." His jaw-muscles ridged under his gray beard, and his eyes narrowed in angry reminiscence. "We've had two annual settlements, me and her brother. First time 'twas a free fight--next time 'twas a riot--third time, well, if there had been a third time I'd have killed him. So I saved myself from State Prison by dividin' accordin' to the map, and then I sent Crowther up to look the property over. There ain't no secret. You sit down, Hiram." "Considerin' the man, I should think you'd have done your lookin' over before you divided," suggested the showman. He scented doleful possibilities in Mr. Crowther's mien.