Tremulous alike with his years and the shock of surprise, his condition was pitiable by the time he reached the store—for he at once sought his friend and crony the storekeeper. And some time elapsed before he could be restored to his normal calmness and make intelligible the detail of what had befallen him. Peter Sawyer was a man of considerable acumen. He was far more disposed to believe that the ladder had been found by some freakish boys who had mischievously hidden it in the laurel hard by, than that it had been spirited away by witches. He considered, however, that his old friend had been victimized beyond the limits of fun, and before setting out for the spot he summoned the constable of the district to their aid, for he felt that arrests for malicious mischief were in order. Both he and the officer were prepared to beat the laurel and patrol the neighborhood and ferret out the miscreants. They arranged their plans as they trudged on together, now and then pausing to wait for old Corbin as he pounded along behind them. The storekeeper was detailing, too, to the constable the reasons for the manufacture of the long ladder—for he was the confidential friend of Jake Corbin, and in fact had suggested the scheme. “We mought ez well let ye inter the secret fus’ ez las’, kase this hyar case air one fur the strong arm o’ the law.” He threw back his narrow lizard-like head and laughed, showing his closely-set tobacco-stained teeth. “Strong ez it air ’tain’t plumb long enough!” he added. The constable, a thick-set, slow man, cocked his head inquiringly askew. “’Tain’t long enough,” continued Sawyer, enjoying the involutions of the method of disclosure he had adopted. “The arm o’ the law ain’t long enough ter reach up ter them hollows in Keedon Bluffs!” “In Keedon Bluffs!” echoed the amazed officer. “Jes’ so,” said Sawyer, laughing and nodding. “So we hev lengthened its reach by the loan of a ladder.” He strode on silently for a few moments beside the constable, their two shadows following them down the red clay road, in advance of old Corbin, who was lumbering on behind attended by a portly, swaying, lunging image of himself, impudently magnified and nearly twice as big. “Ye see,” resumed Sawyer, “Jake Corbin b’lieves ez some o’ old Squair Torbett’s money an’ sech, what he hid in the war times, air right up _yander_ in one o’ them holes—’twar this hyar Jerry Binwell, ez war a slim boy then, an’ Ab Guyther ez holped ter hide it. Waal, ye know how things turned out. The Squair died ’fore many months were over an’ them boys had run away to the Wars. Waal, ye know how cur’ous the heirs acted—looked sorter sideways when questioned, an’ swore they never hed hed no money out’n Keedon Bluffs.” “I ’member,” said the constable, “Ed declared out he never b’lieved thar war no money thar.”