october's second morning dawned sullen and grey, with a chill wind banking slate-hued clouds in the sky. deacon ringold, taking the short cut across the stubble-fields to wilson's, shivered as he glanced back at the black lines his feet had cut through the crisp white frost, and decided to put on his woolen underclothes right away. the deacon had important and disturbing news to convey to his neighbor and had started out early to seek his counsel.

as he climbed the rail fence his eyes swept the settlement below, resting at length on the jail-like wall in the edge of the scroggie timber, above which the tall derrick protruded like a white, scarred face. "humph!" he mused, "scroggie and hinter must either have struck water, or give up. their rig's quiet after chuggin' away day and night for weeks."

he glanced in the opposite direction to the blue smoke rising above the wilson cedars. then, as he prepared to climb down, he apparently changed his mind, for instead of taking the path to tom wilson's he walked briskly down toward the walled in derrick. reaching it he paused and an exclamation of surprise escaped him. on the door of the wall an iron padlock had been fastened. there was no sign of human life about the place but within the walls could be heard the fierce growling of dogs. ringold backed away and eyed the tall derrick. there was mystery here and he didn't relish mysteries. and there was a pungent, salty smell about the place—the smell that oily machinery gives off when put under intense heat.

the deacon was curious to learn what caused that smell. he approached a little closer to the walls and scrutinized the ground carefully. it was stained with black patches of something and he saw that the planks of the wall and the portion of the derrick showing above it also were stained a greenish-black. he ran a finger over a greasy splash and sniffed. then he backed away slowly, now nodding his head. he knew what had happened, just as well as though he had seen it. the careless drillers had exploded a barrel of coal-oil, and perhaps wrecked the drill. yes, nothing surer. that had been the explosion which shook the windows of his home and awoke him several nights ago. keeler and wilson had heard it too. well, it was too bad after all the trouble and expense scroggie had gone to to find water for the settlement.

so the deacon went thoughtfully on his way to wilson's. he found tom wilson breakfasting alone. to the deacon's look of surprise his neighbor vouchsafed the information that a glad and glorious band of young people had been "cuttin' up" nearly all night there, and the boys and ma were sleepin' in, like.

ringold hung his hat on the stovepoker and got down to business at once. "say, tom, i've had an offer for my back hundred. don' know whether to sell or not. thought i'd like to hear what you'd advise."

wilson drained his cup and set it down in the saucer, methodically. the news did not seem to surprise him. "who made the offer, hinter?" he asked.

the deacon started. "yes, did he tell you about it?"

"no," wilson pushed back his chair and felt for his pipe, "but he seems to want to own the whole settlement. he made me an offer for my place and he tried to buy cobin keeler's farm, too, so cobin says."

"when, tom, when?" asked ringold, eagerly.

"last night. at least that's when he made me my offer an' he must have gone across to cobin's after he left me. cobin jest left here not ten minutes ago. he come over to tell me all about it."

the deacon sat silent, thinking. "what's their game, tom?" he asked suddenly.

"his game you mean."

"no, i don't either, i mean his and scroggie's game; of course scroggie's behind him."

"yes," agreed wilson, "i guess maybe he is. but, deacon, i don't know what their game is; wish i did."

"did you talk sell, tom?" asked ringold, anxiously.

"no sir," his neighbor answered promptly, "i should say not."

"and cobin—he ain't any head at all, poor cobin—did he talk sell?"

wilson laughed. "not cobin. he's quite satisfied with his little farm, i guess. no, hinter didn't get much satisfaction from either of us."

the deacon jumped up and reached for his hat. "tom, i'm goin' to saddle your roan and go ask a few questions of the other farmers, if you don't mind."

"good idea," agreed his neighbor. "here, you best set down and have a cup of coffee and i'll saddle him, myself."

"no coffee, thanks; had breakfast; i'll go 'long with you. oh, by the way, tom, i know now what caused that explosion t'other night," and the deacon proceeded to relate his investigation of the walled-in well.

wilson listened interestedly, until ringold was through. "well, they've been careful enough about hidin' their good work, at any rate," he said. "you'd think they had somethin' mighty precious inside them walls the way they've guarded it; but i'm sorry if they've met with an accident," he added. "hinter did really seem anxious to get water."

they went out to the stable and wilson saddled the roan. "i'll be back in an hour or so," called the deacon as he rode away.

he was as good as his word. wilson was just finishing the morning's milking, when the deacon returned. "no other offers, tom," he said. "looks as though they were after this particular strip of territory. anyhow it's agreed that none of us will sell or rent without consultin' the others, so i guess we can wait on hinter's game all right."

"didn't see scraff, did you?" asked wilson.

"no, i didn't. joe had left for bridgetown to bring in a couple of duck-hunters to old man swanson's. clevelanders, they are, so i didn't see him."

"i'm afraid joe'll sell, if he gets a good offer," reflected wilson.

"no, he'll stick with the rest of us," cried ringold, emphatically, "and i'll tell you why. it's just like his contrariness to do the very thing the others won't do, but let me tell you somethin'. the very minute he makes a move i put the screws on him tight. let him so much as whisper 'sell' an' he'll pay me every cent he owes me, with interest. no, tom, we needn't feel scarey about joe scraff."

"well," laughed wilson, "if anybody kin make joe toe the scratch it's you, deacon. didn't see anythin' of hinter on your rounds, did you?"

"no, but i met scroggie. that feller improves on acquaintance, tom, he does so! he ain't half bad after you get to know him. he seems to want to be neighborly, and while i think he's backing hinter in some way i've an idea he's watching him pretty close."

"say anythin' to him about hinter's offer to buy?"

"nary a word but i asked him what he intended to do with the scroggie hardwoods. he told me that he had sold it to a lumber company. he says there'll be a big camp of cutters and sawyers down here this winter. i said i supposed he'd be goin' back to the states jest as soon as he got things cleared up here, an' you ought to see the queer look he gave me.

"'i'm not sure that i'll go back to the states,' he said, 'it all depends; besides,' says he, 'my boy and girl like this place and the people and i reckon i've got enough money to live wherever i like.'

"well, i'll put the roan in the stable, tom; then i'll mosey 'cross home and get my men at the cider-makin'. a few frosts like last night's, an' all the apples will be soured. see you tonight at prayer-meetin'."

wilson picked up his pails and carried them to the fence. seeing billy emerge from the house he placed them on the top step of the stile and waited.

"have a good time last night?" he asked.

billy grinned, "you bet! i tell you ma kin certainly roast partridge fine, an' say, can't old harry play the dandiest tune you ever heard? lou says he puts all the songs of the wood-birds into one sweet warble."

"i guess whatever lou says is jest about right, eh?"

billy blushed to the roots of his hair but his grey eyes met his father's steadily. "yep," he answered, "jest about right."

billy lifted the pails and turned up the path.

"where have you put that man-eatin' swamp coon?" asked his father as he followed. "i believe he's gettin' cross. you'll have to watch him."

"oh, ringdo ain't cross," laughed billy, "he's only playful. he's over to teacher stanhope's. he's so fond of the teacher he won't stay away from him."

billy set the pails down on the block outside the milk-house and rubbed his cheek against croaker, who had just alighted on his shoulder. "are you goin' to show me where you found the gold-pieces, croaker?" he asked, stroking the ruffled plumage smooth.

croaker shooked his head and hopped to the ground. he had grown tired of having billy put that question to him. with many throaty and indignant mutterings he pigeontoed across the yard, not even deigning to glance back at the laughing man and boy.

"pa," said billy, "would you mind comin' to the woodshed an' lookin' over my open water decoys. i've been restringin' 'em, an' weightin' the canvasbacks an' redheads, an' givin' the bluebills a fresh coat o' paint. i'd like to know what you think of my job."

"i heard you and frank stanhope arrangin' to go after bay ducks t'other day," said wilson as he followed billy into the shed.

"yep, we're goin' tomorrow if this weather holds. i'll go over this afternoon to fix up a hide on mud point."

"you seem to have managed the stringin' all right," said the father, examining the wooden ducks on the work bench. "a little too much white on the bluebills, i'd say."

"that's jest what i thought," said billy. "i'll darken it some."

wilson leaned against the bench and waited. he knew that billy had brought him into the shed to speak of other things than decoys.

"pa," said the boy, in guarded tones, "you best watch that man hinter, an' watch him close."

"why?" said wilson.

"cause he's up to some game, an' i know it."

"but what makes you suspicious of hinter?" asked his father gravely. "hasn't he always minded his own business and been a law-abidin', quiet livin man?"

"yep," billy admitted, slowly, "that's it. he's all right in lots of ways, but in other ways——"

he paused. "see here, pa," he cried, "i happen to know one er two things about hinter that i don't like. he's the boss of at least two bad men, an' i guess maybe there's more in the gang, too."

"and who are these two men? what have they done?"

"they're the two who've been workin' his drillin' rig; an' they're the men that robbed the twin oaks store."

"how do you know this?" wilson asked sharply.

"i know it 'cause maurice an' me saw 'em on the very night the store was robbed, out in scroggie's woods. they had a lantern. we heard 'em speak about hidin' somethin' in the ha'nted house."

"and that's where harry found the stolen stuff," mused wilson. "what else, billy?"

"it was them two who brought hinter's drillin'-rig 'cross the lake in a schooner. i saw 'em the day they teamed it in. i knowed 'em both an' pa, i overheard 'em talkin' 'bout hidin' the stolen stuff in the ha'nted house."

"have you told anybody else about this besides me, billy?"

"no," answered billy, promptly, "not even teacher stanhope."

wilson looked relieved. "i can't make head er tail of it," he said, frowning. "i can't think that hinter is behind the men in any deviltry."

"his name ain't hinter," said billy. "it's jacobs."

"what?"

"it's jacobs. listen, pa, i'll tell you how i know. anse, you remember, was sort of helper with them drillers till he got askin' too many questions an' they fired him. well, all he asked 'em, i put him up to ask. anse was always a mighty good listener an' he often heard these two, jack and tom, speak of jacobs an' call him boss. an' one day when hinter comes over, anse heard one of 'em call him jacobs, an' hinter was awful mad about it."

"well!" was all wilson could say, and he repeated it to himself several times, dazedly.

billy was watching him closely. "pa," he said earnestly, "there's something else i might as well let you know while i'm about it. this man hinter owns a schooner, er leastways is boss of one, an' it was her brought them drillin' rigs 'cross the lake. the boat's been layin' along the point, a mile out from shore fer more'n a month now, an' hinter has been keepin' in touch with her right along."

"but how do you know this?" asked wilson in amazement. billy hesitated before answering. "i know it," he said, "'cause every night that he rides to the lighthouse maurice an' me sail up there an' sort o' hide up till he leaves."

"but why, billy?"

"'cause he—he wants erie," said the boy, miserably, "an she won't marry him. we've wondered why he's been holdin' the schooner close in. so we been watchin' hinter. an' one night we follered him down the bar to the pines, an' we seen him signal the schooner. he built a little fire on the shore.

"after a little we saw a light 'way out on the lake. it stayed where it was an by an' by we heard oars. a boat landed an' a man hinter called cap'n, came across to where he sat by the fire."

"and did you hear anythin' of what passed between 'em, billy?"

"yep, we heard hinter say scroggie was a headstrong fool, an' he wished he'd never had anythin' to do with him; but that he'd have to handle him with gloves till he got lost man's swamp away from him."

wilson whistled. "what in the world does he want with that swamp, i wonder?" he cried.

he stood considering. "we'll just keep what we know to ourselves till we're quite sure," he said at length. "what d'ye say?"

billy nodded. "that's what trigger finger 'ud do," he said, "an' trigger finger, he was always right, pa."