Old Corbin looked cautiously over his shoulder through the open door as if he feared some lurking eaves-dropper. The cabin on the slope stood silent and motionless in the motionless yellow radiance of the autumnal sun. But the winds were astir, and as they swayed the woods they revealed bizarre sunbeams rioting hither and thither in glittering fantasies among the leaves. No one sauntered down the curves of the winding road nor along the banks of the shining river. The only creature visible was the old dog asleep, but sitting upright, in a dislocated posture, his head nodding spasmodically, and his lower jaw dropped. “Ye hearn,” said Corbin softly, “that thar nevy o’ his, Ike Guyther, ’low Ab want ter climb down Keedon Bluffs ter whar that old ball’s a-lyin’. Now do ye reckon a _blind_ man ez hev got good sense air goin’ ter trest his bones a-gittin’ down that jagged bluff ez sheer ez a wall with sech holp ez that thar skitter-brained Ike kin gin?” Sawyer, holding his pipe in one hand and his grizzled chin in the other, meditatively shook his head. “Naw sir,” said Corbin, putting the gesture into the more stalwart negation of words. “A man, though, ez hed his vision, though his j’ints be stiff some with age and laziness, mought do it, special ef he hed the holp o’ some strong spry boy like Ike, ez be astonishin’ grown fur his age, but ain’t got no mo’ sense an’ scrimination than a boy naterally hev.” Once more Peter Sawyer nodded his head—this time the action was vertical, for the gesture intimated affirmation. “What in the name o’ reason do Abner want ter go down whar the old ball be lodged?” he asked in a speculative voice, as if he hardly expected an answer. But the ready Corbin, primed with surmises, first looked cautiously up and down the road and then ventured a suggestion. “Waal, sir; seein’ Jerry Binwell minded me o’ Abner Guyther, an’ how they used ter consort together, an’ thinkin’ o’ Ab ’minded me o’ the store old Squair Torbett used ter set on him. Ab war mighty nigh always at the Squair’s house a-doin’ some leetle job or other, special arter the Squair tuk ter agein’ so through worryin’ ’bout the war an’ his sons ez war in the army. An’ Jerry Binwell war at the Squair’s too, bein’ Ab’s shadder. Waal, ye know the Squair hed a power o’ money, an’ he hed drawed it out’n the banks in the valley towns, ’count o’ the raidin’ soldiers an’ sech. An’ he hid it somehows. Some ’lowed he buried it, but most folks said he let these hyar two boys inter the secret, an’ Ab clomb down an’ hid the money in a strong box in a hole in Keedon Bluffs, whilst Jerry watched. Ye hev hearn that word? Waal, sir, the Bluffs air like a honeycomb; so full o’ holes ef a body didn’t know which one they hid it in they couldn’t find it.” “I hev hearn folks a-talkin’ ’bout it myself,” put in Pete Sawyer, “though o’ late years they hev gin that up, mos’ly.”