“Now see to what your actions have brought us,” he exclaimed.  “If it hadn’t been for my quick wit we’d been in a pretty mess.”

“Not my fault,” growled John Stumpy.  “Why don’t you give up the statement?”

I could not help but feel amused at his persistency.  His demands upon the merchant were about on a footing with those Mr. Woodward had made upon me.

“If you’ll only listen to reason,” began the merchant, “I will prove—­”

The rest of his remark was drowned out in a clap of thunder.  Somewhat startled, I looked up at the sky.

The black clouds in the south had rolled up rapidly, until now the entire horizon was covered.  The first burst of thunder was succeeded directly by several others, and then large drops of rain began to fall.

The wind blew the drops directly into the window.  I crouched down out of sight, and the next moment Mr. Woodward said:—­

“It’s raining in the window.  We’d better close it up.”

Of course directly the window was closed I could hear no longer.  I remained in my position for half a minute or more, and then as the rain began to pour down rapidly I made a break for better shelter.

I sought the barn.  It was a low, rambling structure, with great wide doors.  No one seemed to be around, and I rushed in without ceremony.  I was pretty fairly soaked, but as it was warm I did not mind the ducking.  I shook out my hat and coat and then sat down to think matters over.

What I had heard had not given me much satisfaction.  To be sure, it had proved beyond a doubt that Mr. Aaron Woodward was a thorough scoundrel, but of this I had been already satisfied in my own mind.

What was I to do?  I had asked myself that question several times, and now I asked it again.

If only I could get John Stumpy arrested, perhaps it would be possible to force him to make a confession.  But how was this to be done?

While I sat on the edge of a feed box, a form darkened the doorway, and Farmer Decker appeared.

“Hello!” he exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?”

“I took the liberty to come in out of the rain,” I replied.  “Have you any objections to my remaining until the shower is over?”

“No, guess not.  It’s a mighty heavy one.  Where’re you from?  Newville?”

“No, sir, Darbyville.”

“Yes?  Had quite a robbery down there, I understand.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, a chap named Strong robbed an old woman of nearly five hundred dollars.  Do you know him or the woman?”

“I know the woman quite well,” was my reply, and I hoped he would not question me further.

“They’ve got him in jail, I believe.  The fellow and his sister tried to make out that a tramp had taken the money, but I understand no one would listen to the story.”

“No?”

“No.  It seems this Strong boy’s father is in jail now for stealing, so it ain’t strange the boy’s a thief.”