“Waal, Ed’s dead, an’ the tother heir moved ter Arkansas, an’ the kentry-side ginerally b’lieved like them—that thar warn’t no money thar—big fool tale. Waal, hyar kems back Jerry Binwell, arter twenty year, bein’ pore ez Job’s tur-r-key, an’ takes ter a-loafin’ roun’ them Bluffs; I seen him thar twict myself. An’ Ab Guyther hev tuk ter declarin’ he wants ter climb down Keedon Bluffs an’ lay his hand on that thar old cannon-ball.” “Wants ter lay his hand on Squair’s old money-box, ye better say,” exclaimed Corbin. “Waal now, I ain’t goin’ ter b’lieve nuthin’ ag’in Ab!” exclaimed the constable excitedly. “Ennyhow,” wheezed old man Corbin, “we-uns ’lowed we’d git a ladder an’ summons a officer an’ take down that box, ef we could git a boy ter climb in, an’ turn it over ter the law. Jerry Binwell ain’t done nuthin’ ez yit ter warrant arrestin’ him, but we jes’ ’lowed we-uns warn’t a-goin ter set by an’ let him put folks on beams an’ steal money, an’ loaf around ef thar war enny way ter pervent it.” The constable seemed to approve of the plan, and only muttered a stipulation that he did not believe Ab had anything to do with any rascality. Little was said as they pushed through the tangle of the laurel. The storekeeper was ahead, leading the way, for he knew it well, having often come to consult his crony. “Waal, sir!” he exclaimed in indignant ruefulness when the bare rocky space was revealed along which the great ladder was wont to stretch. He glanced around excitedly at the constable, directing his attention to the spot, then called aloud, “Why, Jake,” in a voice of exasperated compassion. A cold chill was upon old Corbin as he waddled through the last of the tangled bushes; it required no slight nerve for him to again approach the place. He quivered from head to foot and wailed forth tumultuously, “I hev been snared by the witches. Le’s git out’n these hyar witched woods! Don’t ye reckon ’twar the witches? It mus’ hev been the witches!” A new idea suddenly struck Peter Sawyer. “’Twarn’t no witches,” he declared abruptly. “An’ ’twarn’t no mischievous boys! ’Twar Jerry Binwell; that’s who hev got that ladder. Ef we-uns could ketch him a-nigh hyar I’d git him ’rested sure. He hev fund out what we air wantin’ ter do.” “Better find the ladder an’ git the box fust. We-uns don’t want him—a rascal—ez much ez the law wants the Squair’s money-box ter gin it back ter the heirs,” said the cautious constable. “Go slow an’ sure. Besides I don’t wanter make no foolish arrests. The jestice would jes’ discharge him on sech evidence ag’in him ez we kin show—kase we can’t tell all we know,—fur the word would git all over the Cove, an’ some limber-legged fellow mought climb up thar, an’ ef he didn’t break his neck he mought git the box. I tell ye—I’m a-goin’ ter set a watch on them Bluffs from day-dawn till it’s cleverly dark. An’ ef that thar ladder be in these hyar woods I’ll find it.”