We started right in to nose around, but that smoke-house was pretty nearly air-tight. Dark! Mister, but it was dark! And it was full of cobwebs and smell and dirt. There was just as much chance of getting out of there till Mr. Hamilcar Janes let us out as there would be of sawing a bar of steel with a chunk of cheese. There wasn’t a thing to do but sit down and be as patient as we could—which wasn’t very patient, when you come to consider all the circumstances. One thing that made me mad was that I hadn’t eaten some of Hamilcar’s apples. We couldn’t have been shut up a bit more if we’d eaten a bushel.

Time passes pretty slow when you’re sitting in the dark. I don’t know how long it was before we heard a sound outside, but it seemed like it must be the next week Tuesday. Then we heard somebody holler from the road:

“Hey, there, are you Mr. Janes?”

“That’s me,” roared back the man who had captured us. “Hamilcar Janes.”

“Down to the hotel,” says the voice, “they told me you had a horse you might rent for the day.”

I nudged Mark and he nudged me all at once.

“Skip!” we both said.

That’s who it was—Jehoshaphat P. Had got tired of trying to start up that automobile, and here he was trying to hire a horse. Luck was against us hard.

In a minute Hamilcar Janes spoke up and says:

“I’ve got a hoss, mister, and I calc’late I’ve rented her some. But that there hoss, mister, is a sort of friend of mine. Pertty good friend, too. I hain’t rentin’ her to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along with feet that’s too lazy to carry ’em. Kin you drive a hoss, mister, like a hoss ought to be drove?”

“I’ll treat your animal all right,” says Skip.

“Where’d you want to drive her?”

“Sunfield,” says Skip.

“Sixteen mile, nearly,” says Hamilcar. “Um! Ho, hum! Give her a good rest there, mister? See she gits water and feed? Eh?”

“Of course,” says Skip.

“Come over here closer,” says Hamilcar. “I want to git a better look at you. Hain’t goin’ to trust that hoss to nobody I don’t like the looks of.”

There was a little while when nobody said anything and I judged Skip was coming closer. Then Hamilcar says:

“You hain’t much for looks, mister, and that’s a fact. I dun’no’s I’d care to send my hoss off under your care.”

“How does that ten-dollar bill look?” says Skip.

“Good-lookin’ bill,” says Hamilcar. “Dun’no’s I ever seen a nicer-lookin’ bill—but that hain’t got nothin’ to do with it. If I didn’t calc’late my hoss’d git used well you couldn’t hire her, mister, not if you was a-goin’ to paper my house with ten-dollar bills. No, sir. It’s like I said. That hoss and me is friends.”

“Plunk,” says Mark to me, “I hain’t very scared of Mr. Janes.”

“No?” says I. “Why?”

“Hear what he s-says about his horse?”

“Yes,” says I.

“Well,” says he, “that kind of a man hain’t very dangerous to boys.... He’s all right, Mr. Janes is, whether he’s l-locked us up or not.”

“I hope so,” says I, “but if he keeps us here and then rents his horse to Skip he might as well be the meanest slinkin’ scalawag in the state. It’ll do us as much harm.”

“I dun’no’,” says Mark, and then shut up tight to listen.

Hamilcar was talking again.

“Come to look you over, mister, I dun’no’s you look bad. ’Tain’t that, I calc’late. But, mister, you’re so mortal homely it raises doubts in a feller’s mind. Maybe, mister, you’re as good as George Washington, but you don’t look it.”

“I can’t help what I look like,” says Skip, as mad as a weasel. “What’s that got to do with it?

“Easy, mister, easy,” says Hamilcar. “You’re wantin’ to rent a hoss—not me urgin’ you to take her. You won’t git no place by r’ilin’ yourself all up. Calm down, mister, calm down.”

Skip said something I couldn’t hear.

“Well, mister,” says Hamilcar, “I’ll take you back and show you to the hoss. If she don’t make no objection, I guess maybe you can take her. But if she don’t like you, mister, you couldn’t have her if you was to offer me seven dollars a mile and a new buggy throwed in. Come on.”

They started to come back our way. I could hear them coming closer and closer. Right in front of our door they stopped, and Hamilcar says:

“What d’you calc’late I got in here, mister?”

“Hams,” says Jehoshaphat, sharp-like.

“No,” says Hamilcar. “Boys.”

“Boys!”

“Two of ’em. Fat one and thin one. Caught ’em stealin’ apples. Grabbed ’em by the collars. Shoved ’em in the smoke-house. Good idee. Teach ’em a lesson. Scare ’em some. Bet they’ll keep out of my orchard after this.”

“Should have given ’em a lickin’,” says Skip.

“Uh-uh, mister. Never licked a hoss nor a boy. ’Tain’t good trainin’. Mister, I calc’late you hain’t got no boy.”

“No,” says Skip, “and I hain’t hankerin’ after one.”

“There, you see! Well, mister, I hain’t got no boy, either, nor no wife, nor no folks of any kind. But I’d like a boy. Yes, sir, I’d like two of ’em. But I wouldn’t lick ’em, mister. There’s other ways and better ways.... Want to take a look at these fellers?”

Well, you can believe Mark and I pretty near jumped out of our skins. What if Hamilcar showed us to Skip and Skip knew us, which he would, and put two and two together? He’d smell a rat right off—and then the fat would splash over into the fire. We held our breath and waited.

“No,” says Skip, “I hain’t any desire to see ’em.”

“They’re bad ones,” says Hamilcar, but his voice didn’t sound like he thought we were so very bad. “You never see a pair of worse ones.”

“Haven’t time,” says Skip. “Let’s fix up about the horse, because I’m in a hurry to get to Sunfield. I’ve got a big business deal on there.”

Then they passed on by and we couldn’t hear them any more, but in about ten minutes we heard carriage-wheels, and so we judged the horse hadn’t shown any signs of disliking Skip. He’d got his carriage and was off for Sunfield while we were here, shut up in a smoke-house, with nothing but our legs even if we could get out.

But right away Hamilcar Janes came to the door and says, ferocious-like:

“Hello in there!”

“Mr. Janes,” says Mark, “we want to t-talk to you.”

“I’ll bet you do,” says he, and I could hear him chuckle. He came closer and unbarred the door and opened it.

“Come out,” says he, in a voice that would have frightened the stripes off a tiger.

We came out as quick as we could, and it was fine to have decent air to breathe again.

“There you be,” says Hamilcar. “A perty pair, eh? Hain’t you, now? Apple-stealers!”

“We’re not apple-stealers,” says Mark. “We didn’t go into your orchard to steal a-a-apples. We were just walking through.”

“To be sure,” says Hamilcar. “Just strollin’ among the trees. Of course you were.”

“We were tryin’ to keep out of sight of that f-feller you just rented your horse to.”

Hamilcar wrinkled up his forehead and frowned.

“Chasin’ you, was he?”

“No. He didn’t know we were here, and we d-didn’t want him to.”

Hamilcar scratched his head. “I dun’no’s I ever had any boy tell me just that story. Them I’ve caught before has told me lots of things. Some walked in their sleep, and some didn’t know they were in an orchard at all, and others was stealin’ for a sick grandmother, but I don’t call to mind any story just like yours.”

“If you’ll l-listen, Mr. Janes, I’ll tell you about it,” says Mark.

“Go ahead, young feller. I hain’t got much to do just now. I calc’late it’ll be int’restin’.”

“It will,” says Mark, and he started in from the beginning and told Mr. Janes all about the Bazar, and about father being hurt, and about Skip and the things he’d done to us, and how we’d fought back. He told him we were going to Sunfield now to get the best of Skip. There wasn’t anything he left out. When he was through Hamilcar hit his big hands together and says:

“So you’re Mark Tidd, eh? Ho, hum! Know Ike Bond?”

“Uncle Ike Bond?” says I. “Well, I should say we do know him.”

“Him and my father was in the war together,” says Hamilcar. “Comes to see me. Told me about you. Mark Tidd, eh? Ho, hum! And that scalawag has been tryin’ to bust you up in business, eh? I sort of suspected him, he was so blamed homely. But the hoss she never let on, so I harnessed her and let him drive off.... Wish I’d ’a’ knowed about this before.”

“So do I,” says Mark. “Now it’s too late. Skip’ll b-b-beat us to Sunfield and make the deal and—But what’s the use? We’re beat.”

“Beat!” says Hamilcar. “You bet you hain’t beat. Not by a long shot. One hoss hain’t all Hamilcar Janes owns. He owns a faster hoss than that one, too. Just you wait a jiffy, Mark Tidd, and we’ll be after this Skip. We’ll make him skip, that’s what we’ll do. I’ll hitch up and we’ll take after him, and if he gits to Sunfield first you can take a bite out of my leg. There!”

We hurried back to the barn with him, and he hitched up a team—as fine-looking a team it was—to a two-seated rig. Then he got in the front seat and motioned us up behind.

“I’m a-goin’ to drive myself. We’ll pass that Skip in fifteen minutes.”

“We mustn’t pass him,” says Mark. “He m-m-mustn’t see us. We’ve got to get there first without his knowing we’re anywhere around.”

“All right,” says Hamilcar; “we’ll take the woods road. We can go right around him, and him never be the wiser. Giddap, there! Giddap! Earn your feed now, hosses. Dig in, for there’s a man tryin’ to git the best of two boys. We can’t have that. No, siree, Bob. Not any.”

“We won’t get there much ahead of him,” says I.

“Maybe ten minutes,” says Hamilcar. “Maybe fifteen.”

“Do you know Mr. Hoffer—the m-man that wants to sell his store?” Mark asked.

“Know him? To be sure. It’s Sunfield we’re a-goin’ to, Mark Tidd, and if there’s a man, woman, child, or critter in that town that don’t know Hamilcar Janes, then I hope apples sells for fifty cents a barrel.”

“We’ve got to get him away from his store,” says Mark. “There ain’t time to d-dicker with him there. Skip’d come bangin’ right into the middle of it. And if he was to see Plunk and me the whole plate of soup ’u’d be spilled.”

“Um!” says Hamilcar. “Calc’late we kin manage it. Leave it to Hamilcar Janes. He’s your man.” Then he started talking to himself. “Try to bust up a couple of boys, would he? Skip! I’ll make him skip. If he’s mistreated that hoss of mine he’ll skip and he’ll jump—and, b’jing! he’ll holler, too.”

It was a fine drive to Sunfield. The air was just a bit chilly, but it was a bright day and the woods were getting all colored up. It made me want to go nutting. I said so to Mark.

“If th-this deal goes through,” says he, “you and I will go n-nutting Wednesday. We’ll deserve a day off.”

We drove along at a good clip and got to Sunfield before noon. Hamilcar Janes drove us right to Mr. Hoffer’s five-and-ten-cent store and drew up his horses. I looked around where he said the other road came into town, and there, a quarter of a mile off, was a buggy coming along. There was one man in it, but it was too far off for me to see if it was Skip. Hamilcar took a look and banged his knee with his big fist.

“It’s him,” says he. “At any rate, it’s my hoss. We’d better git a hustle on.”

We jumped out of the carriage and went pell-mell into the store. There was a young woman and a middle-aged man there. He was Mr. Hoffer, and he was German, and he looked pretty tired and sick.

“Hoffer,” says Hamilcar, “you’re a-goin’ for a drive.”

“Nein,” says Hoffer. “Here must I stop. Business is business.”

“You need a rest, Hoffer. You’re a-lookin’ peeked. And you’re a-goin’ for a drive. Hamilcar Janes says you’re a-goin’, and he can’t afford to tell a lie. Git your hat, Hoffer.”

Mr. Hoffer smiled, feeble-like, but shook his head.

“Where’s his hat?” says Hamilcar to the young woman.

She pointed to it, and Hamilcar took it and tossed it to Mark. Then he walked right over to Hoffer and picked him up in his arms and carried him out of the store and set him in the back seat of the carriage.

“There,” says he. “Now set there and enjoy yourself.”

For a minute Mr. Hoffer looked a little upset and flustered and didn’t appear to know what to make of it. But then he smiled, and it was a gentle, grateful kind of a smile that made me feel choky in the throat.

“Hamilcar,” says he, “you are one goot friend to me. How I haff longed for to ride by the woods! Ach, but it wass impossible. Always must I sit in mein store and hope somebody comes to buy.... But you steal me, Hamilcar, und it iss that I cannot help myself, so I am glad. We will drive, Hamilcar, und for the day I will be happy.”

Hamilcar didn’t lose a minute. He started us up the street at a gallop. We went around the next corner on three wheels—just as Skip and his horse slackened up at the store. Then for a couple of minutes I saw some driving. Whee! but that was a team, and Mr. Janes was a driver! We went, and the cool air slashed past our cheeks and made water come into our eyes. I looked back at Mr. Hoffer—and choked again. He was so happy about it all that—well, that a fellow couldn’t look at him without wanting to sort of pat him on the back and tell him it was all right and that kind of thing.

Pretty soon Hamilcar slowed down.

“I calc’late we’ve give him the slip,” says he. “Now, Mark Tidd, you can git to business. Hoffer, this here is Mark Tidd, and this other kid is Plunk Smalley. You kin depend on ’em. I know ’em. What they say you kin put your faith in.”

Now that was a pretty fine thing for him to say, and it made me feel considerable proud. It made Mark feel so, too. You could see him sort of stiffen up and his eyes gleam.

“Mr. Hoffer,” says Mark, “we want to buy your stock.”

“Veil, she iss for sale. Cheap, also. It is that I must go away for mein health.”

“We have got to hurry. There isn’t t-time to take an inventory, but we have an idea what you have on hand. A friend looked into it for us.” He reached into his pocket. “Here’s twenty-five dollars, Mr. Hoffer, to p-pay for an option on your stock till Thursday. We’ll offer you eight hundred dollars.”

“Option, eh? Ja, I understand option. Till Thursday. Twenty-fife dollar. Ja. But eight hundred dollar! Nein. It iss too little.”

“How much d-do you ask?”

“T’irteen hundred,” says Mr. Hoffer.

Mark shook his head, but didn’t say a word. Neither did Mr. Hoffer, and we drove a mile without anybody’s speaking. Then Mr. Hoffer said:

“Twelluf hundred.”

Mark shook his head, and we all kept still for another mile. Then Mark says:

“Eight h-hundred and fifty.”

Mr. Hoffer shook his head. We were almost through the big woods when Mr. Hoffer spoke up and says:

“Eleven hundred and fifty.”

“Eight hundred and s-s-seventy-five,” says Mark.

After that nobody said a word for twenty minutes; then Mr. Hoffer says:

“Eleven hundred, efen money.”

Mark shook his head. “Mr. Hoffer,” says he, “I’ll make one more offer and that’s my last. You’ll have to t-t-take it or leave it. Nine hundred d-d-dollars. Not a cent more. N-not a cent.”

Mr. Hoffer blinked and peered at Mark with a sort of twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Young man,” says he, “you haff a head for business. If it iss that you can sell as well as you can buy, den you are one business man. For surely.... Vell, den, I take your offer. Nine hundred it iss, und a option till Thursday. Ve go py the lawyer for that option, eh?”

Mark shook his head. “No,” says he, “I have it ready.”

And would you believe me, but he pulled out of his pocket a paper all drawn up by our own lawyer in typewriting. It had even the right amount set down—nine hundred dollars!

Mr. Hoffer read it and chuckled. “Hamilcar,” says he, “did you seen this? Ho! For nine hundred dollars! So sure wass he that he has the paper drawn. Ho! Nefer in mein life haff I such a boy seen. For nine hundred dollars. Ho! ... Veil, Mark Tidd, I sign this. Ja, I sign him for you.”

Hamilcar stopped the horses so the buggy wouldn’t jar, and Mark pulled out a fountain pen. He was ready for everything. Mr. Hoffer grinned some more and signed his name on a line at the bottom of the option, and Hamilcar signed as a witness. Then Mark sighed like he had something pretty heavy lifted off his mind.

“Plunk,” says he, “chances are good. We’re not out of the woods yet, b-but we can almost see the other side.... Mr. Skip, you should ’a’ played fair.... Now drive us to the edge of town, Mr. Janes, and let us out where Skip can’t see us. He’ll be waiting at the store for Mr. Hoffer.”