billy and maurice, taking the short cut to the wilson farm across the rain-drenched fields next morning, were planning the day's programme.

"now that we've got ol' harry's charm along with my rabbit-foot," billy was saying, "we ought'a be able to snoop 'round in the ha'nted grove an' even hunt through the house any time we take the notion. maybe we'll get a chance to do it to-day."

"but, darn it all, bill," maurice objected, "there won't be no ghost to lead the way to the stuff in the daytime."

"well, if we take a look over the place in daylight we'll know the lay-out better at night, won't we? trigger finger tim did that most times, an' he always got away clean. supposin' a ghost is close at your heels, ain't it a good idea to have one or two good runways picked out to skip on? we're goin' through that ha'nted house in daylight, so you might as well make up your mind to that."

maurice was about to protest further when the rattle of loose spokes and the beat of a horse's hoofs on the hard road fell on their ears.

"that's deacon ringold's buck-board," billy informed his chum, drawing him behind an alder-screened stump. "say, ain't he drivin'? somebody must be sick at his place." then as the complaining vehicle swept into sight from around the curve, "by crackey, maurice, your pa's ridin' with him."

maurice scratched his head in perplexity. "wonder where he's takin' dad? it's too late fer sheep-shearin' an' too early fer hog-killin'; an' that's 'bout all dad's good at doin', 'cept leadin' the singin' at prayer-meetin'. wonder what's up? gee! the deacon is sure puttin' his old mare over the road."

"keep quiet till they get past," cautioned billy. "say! we needn't have been so blamed careful about makin' our sneak if we'd knowed your pa was away from home."

"oh, look, bill," said maurice, "they're stoppin' at your place."

the deacon had pulled up at the wilson's gate. "he's shoutin' fer pa," billy whispered, as a resounding "hello, tom!" awoke the forest echoes. "come on maurice, let's work our way down along this strip o' bushes, so's we kin hear what's goin' on."

the boys wriggled their way through the thicket of sumach, and reached a clump of golden-rod inside the road fence just as wilson came out of the lane.

"mornin', neighbors," he greeted the men in the buckboard, "won't you pull in?"

"no," said the deacon, "we're on our way to twin oaks, thomas. thieves broke into spencer's store last night. we're goin' up to see if we can be of any use to caleb. we'd like you to come along."

wilson's exclamation of surprise was checked by cobin keeler, whose long arm reached out and encircled him. he was lifted bodily into the seat and the buckboard dashed on up the road, the clatter of its loose spokes drowning the loud voices of its occupants.

the boys eat up and stared at each other.

"you heard?" billy asked in awed tones.

maurice nodded. "they said thieves at the store." forgotten, for the moment, was old scroggie's ghost and the buried treasure in this new something which promised mystery and adventure.

"hully gee!" whispered billy. "ain't that rippin'."

"ain't it jest?" agreed maurice. "say, bill, there ain't no law ag'in shootin' robbers is there—store-robbers, i mean?"

"naw, why should there be? that's what you're supposed to do, if you get the chance—shoot 'em, an' get the reward."

"what's a reward?"

"why, it's money, you ninny! you kill the robbers an' you get the church collection an' lots of other money besides. then you're rich an' don't ever have to do any work; jest fish an' hunt an' give speeches at tea-meetin's an' things."

"oh, hokey! ain't that great. how'd you come to know all that, bill?"

"why i read it in anson's book, 'trigger-finger tim er dead er alive.' oh, it's all hunky, i tell you."

"but, bill, how we goin' to kill them robbers?"

"ain't goin' to kill 'em," his friend replied. "trigger-finger tim never killed his; he took 'em all alive. all he did was crease their skulls with bullets, an' scrape their spines with 'em, an' when they come to they'd find themselves tied hand an' foot, an' trigger-finger smokin' his cigarette an' smilin' down on 'em."

"gollies!" exulted maurice. then uncertainty in his tones, "a feller 'ud have to be a mighty good shot to do that though, bill."

"oh shucks! what's the use of thinkin' 'bout that now? we've gotta catch them robbers first, ain't we?"

"yep, that's so. but how?"

billy wriggled free of the golden-rod. "come on over an' help me move my menagerie an' we'll plan out a way."

they climbed the fence and crossed the road to the lane-gate.

"now, then," said billy, "you scoot through the trees to the root-house, while i go up to the kitchen an' sneak some doughnuts. don't let ma catch a glimpse of you er she'll come lookin' fer me an' set me to churnin' er somethin' right under her eyes. an' see here," he warned, as maurice made for the trees, "don't you get to foolin' with the snakes er owls, an' you best keep out of ol' ringdo's reach, 'cause he's a bad ol' swamp coon in some ways. you jest lay close till i come back."

whistling soundlessly, billy went up the path to the house. he peered carefully in through the screened door. the room was empty and so was the pantry beyond. billy entered, tiptoed softly across to the pantry and filled his pockets with doughnuts from the big crock in the cupboard. then he tip-toed softly out again.

as he rounded the kitchen, preparatory to a leap across the open space between it and the big wood-pile, mrs. wilson's voice came to him, high-pitched and freighted with anger.

"you black, thievin' passel of impudence, you!" she was saying. "if i had a stick long enough to reach you, you'd never dirty any more of my new-washed clothes."

on the top-most branch of a tall, dead pine, close beside the wood-pile, sat the tame crow, croaker, his head cocked demurely on one side, as he listened to the woman's righteous abuse. croaker could no more help filling his claws with chips and dirt and wobbling the full length of a line filled with snowy, newly-washed clothes than he could help upsetting the pan of water in the chicken-pen, when he saw the opportunity. he hated anything white with all his sinful little heart and he hated the game rooster in the same way. he was always in trouble with ma wilson, always in trouble with the rooster. only when safe in the highest branch of the pine was he secure, and in a position to talk back to his persecutors.

he said something now, low and guttural, to the woman shaking her fist at him in impotent anger. his voice was almost human in tone, his attitude so sinister that she shuddered. "that's right, swear at me, too," she cried, "add insult to injury, you black imp! if it wasn't fer bein' scared of shootin' myself i'd get the gun an' shoot you, i would so!"

suddenly croaker stretched himself erect. a soft whistle, so low as to be inaudible to the indignant woman but clear to his acute ears, had sounded from the far side of the wood pile. pausing only long enough to locate the sound, croaker spread his wings and volplaned down, emitting a hoarse croak of triumph almost in mrs. wilson's face, as he swept close above her.

"come here, you," spoke a low voice as croaker settled on the other side of the wood pile, and the crow promptly perched himself on billy's shoulder with a succession of throaty notes that sounded like crazy laughter, but which were really expressions of unadulterated joy. for this boy who had taken him from the nest in the swaying elm when he was nothing but a half-feathered, wide-mouthed fledgling, and had fed him, cared for him, defended him against cat, dog, rooster and human beings—for this boy alone croaker felt all the love his selfish heart was capable of giving.

and now as billy carried him towards the root-house he recited the various adventures which had been his since they had parted, recited them, it is true, in hoarse unintelligible crow-language, but which billy was careful to indicate he understood right well.

"so you did all that, did you?" he laughed. "oh, but you're a smart bird. but see here, if you go on the way you're doin', dirtyin' ma's clean clothes an' abusin' her like i heard you doin', your light's goin' out sudden one of these days. ma's scared to shoot the ol' gun herself, but she'll get anse to do it. i guess i better shut you up on wash-mornin's after this."

"what's he been doin' now, bill?" asked maurice as billy and the crow joined him beside the root-house.

"oh, he's been raisin' high jinks with ma ag'in," explained billy. "he will get his claws full o' dirt an' pigeon-toe along her line of clean clothes, as soon as her back's turned."

"gosh! ain't he a terror?" maurice exclaimed. "say, why don't you put him in the menagerie?"

"maurice, you've got about as much sense as a wood-tick," billy replied in disgust. "how long d'ye s'pose my snakes an' bats an' lizards 'ud last if i turned croaker loose in there?"

"pshaw! bill, he couldn't hurt spotba, the womper, could he?"

"jest couldn't he? i'll take you down to the marsh some day an' show you how quick he kin kill a womper."

"gollies! is that so? well he couldn't hurt the black snake; that's one sure thing."

"no, it ain't, 'cause he kin kill a black snake a sight easier than he kin a womper, an' i'll tell you why. black-snakes have got teeth. they bite. but their backbone is easy broke. a womper hasn't any teeth. he strikes with his bony nose. you know what one of them snakes kin do? you saw that big one, down in patterson's swamp lay open moll's face with one slash. they're thick necked, an' take a lot of killin'. this crow kin kill a black-snake with one slash of his bill. he has to choke the womper to death."

maurice scratched his head thoughtfully. "say, you know a lot about snakes an' things, don't you?" he said admiringly.

"maybe i do, but i ain't tellin' all i know," said billy. "what's the good? nobody 'ud believe me."

"what you mean, believe you?"

"why, if i said i saw a fight between a little brown water-snake no bigger'n a garter snake, an' a fish-hawk, an' the snake licked the hawk, d'ye s'pose anyone 'ud believe that?"

"i dunno. maybe, an' maybe not."

"supposin' i said the snake killed the hawk?"

"oh, gee whitticker! nobody 'ud believe that, bill."

"there now. nobody 'ud believe it. an' yet i saw it."

"you saw it?" maurice, who could not think of questioning his chum's word, gasped in amazement.

"yep, i saw it last spring—in the eau rice beds, it was. i was tryin' to find a blue-winged teal's nest. saw the drake trail off an' knowed the duck must be settin' somewhere on the high land close beside the pond. as i was standin' still, lookin' about, this little water snake come swimmin' 'cross a mushrat run. jest then i saw a shadder cross the reeds, an' a fish-hawk swooped down an' made a grab at the snake. the snake dived an' come up close to shore. the hawk wheeled an' swooped ag'in. this time the water was too shallow fer snakie to get clear away. the hawk grabbed him in his claws an' started up with him. 'goodbye, little snake,' i thought, an' jest then i noticed that the hawk was havin' trouble; fer one thing, he wasn't flyin' straight, an' he was strikin' with his curved beak without findin' anythin'. pretty soon he started saggin' down to the reeds. i jumped into the punt an' made fer the spot where i thought he'd come down. jest as i got there he splashed into the shallow water. i stood up in the punt, an' then i saw what had happened. the little water-snake had coiled round the hawk's neck an' had kept its head close under his throat. you know that a water snake has two little saw teeth, one on each side of the upper jaw. i've often wondered what good a pair of teeth like that could be to 'em, but i don't any more, 'cause that little snake had cut that hawk's throat with them snags an' saved himself."

"an' so he got away!" sighed maurice.

"well, he should have, but i didn't let him. i thought i'd like to own a snake as plucky as that, so i caught him—didn't have no trouble, he was awful tired—an' brought him up here to the menagerie."

maurice whistled. "gee! bill, you don't mean t' tell me that water-snake you call hawk-killer is him?"

"yep, that's him. now," he cried tossing croaker into a tree, "i'll tell you what we gotta do. we gotta move these pets down to that old sugar-shanty in our woods. ma's got so nervous with havin' 'em here that i'm afraid anse might take it in his head to let 'em out, er kill 'em. i've got 'em all boxed nice an' snug. all i want you to do is help me carry 'em. we can do it in two trips. ringdo, of course, 'll stay along up here. ma's not scared of him like she is of the other things. come along."

he unpropped the root-house door and threw it open. maurice hesitated on the threshold, peering into the darkness.

"are you sure you've got 'em boxed safe, bill?" he asked, fearfully.

"bet ye i am."

"then, here's fer it, but i must say i'll be glad when the job's done," shivered maurice, following his chum into the blackness of the root-house.

croaker hopped to a lower branch and peered in after his master. then, catching sight of a doughnut which had spilled from billy's pocket, he fluttered down to the ground, and with many caressing croaks proceeded to make a meal of it.