From the lips of Rollins and Springer the boys of Oakdale Academy learned something of the encounter with Grant during the rabbit hunt, but, naturally, even Springer colored his statements in a manner which did not place Barker in an unfavorable light. Save to sneer about the boy from Texas, Berlin himself had little to say. Nevertheless, the general impression went forth that Rod had first threatened to shoot Silver Tongue, and had been prevented from doing so only by Barker’s firm stand. This added to the almost universal dislike in which the young Texan was held.

Ben Stone refrained from questioning Grant directly, but he gave Rod a chance to make a statement, and was disappointed when the latter betrayed a disinclination to talk of the matter.

Grant still bore himself with unruffled independence, paying such attention to his studies that he stood high in his classes and received the outspoken approval of Prof. Richardson. This also, under the circumstances, did not conduce to his popularity. With Davis and Lander he continued friendly at all times, actually taking a sort of perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that his enemies were calling attention to his behavior as proof of their just estimate of his character.

A bit of “soft weather,” with cold nights, made excellent sliding, and evening after evening the double runners, loaded with laughing, shouting boys and girls, went shooting down Main Street through the very center of the town and over the bridge as far as the railway station. Although Rod was never caught watching them, more than once he paused at a distance to listen to their joyous cries, and, truth to tell, there was regret in his heart.

Thursday morning Sleuth Piper, reaching the academy, had a tale for the ears of a group of interested listeners. Mysteriously beckoning the boys around him in the coat room, Piper held up one finger for silence.

“’Sh!” he sibilated. “Perhaps some of you fellows observed that I was not out sliding last night. I struck a trail. Having noticed that one Rodney Grant and his two boon companions were not to be discovered around the village evenings, my astute mind led me to the deduction that they must be up to something of a dark and secret nature. Last night, from a place of secure cover, I watched with the patience of a redskin, and eventually I was well rewarded for so doing. I saw the miscreants meet secretly on High Street, near the foot of the path which leads to the home of Priscilla Kent. Under cover of darkness the beforesaid miscreants set forth to the westward, totally unaware that I was shadowing them. Of course, as there was no immediate cover for concealment, my task was extremely difficult, and when they reached the Barville road I lost them.”

“Is that all you’ve got to tell us?” asked Chub Tuttle, cracking a peanut. “I thought you’d caught them robbing a hen-roost or breaking into a bank.”

“I lost them for the time being,” continued Sleuth, undisturbed; “but, after meditating at the corner for some time, I was led to the deduction that they had gone north toward Turkey Hill, as it was not probable they would have chosen that roundabout course to turn the other way.”

“Great head, Sleuth,” complimented Cooper.

“They must have made haste,” said Piper; “for, though I hustled along all the way to the hill, my searching eyes failed to discover even a glimpse of them. Nevertheless, I was not baffled. Further meditation led me to decide that there could be only one destination for the aforesaid miscreants. It was awful dark in the woods over back of the hill, but my iron nerve remained unshaken. Setting my teeth firmly, I followed the course of Silver Brook all the way up to the swamp, into the vastness of which I boldly penetrated.”

“Daring deed,” murmured Cooper, in mock admiration.

“By this time,” pursued Piper, unmindful of the interruption, “my keen intellect was satisfied beyond reasonable doubt that the destination of that trio of night prowlers was Lander’s old camp. You see, my perspicacity was alive and working.”

“Who’s he?” questioned Cooper.

“Who’s who?” snapped Sleuth, irritated.

“Why, Percy P. Cacity. Have there been rumors afloat concerning his death?”

“Shut up! You’re interrupting the flowing course of my thrilling narrative. Having decided beyond doubt that I would find them at Bunk’s camp, I stole onward through the silent depths of the gloomy swamp. Not a sound broke the deathly stillness.”

“Not even the bark of a dogwood tree?” questioned Chipper.

Sleuth glared at him. “If you don’t want to listen, go chase yourself and give others the chance. It was so dark there in the swamp that even I, with all my keen sagacity, found it difficult to locate that old camp. At length, however, I perceived a faint gleam of light, and my heart gave an exultant leap, although my nerves were steady as iron. Guided by the before-mentioned light, I made my perilous way onward. I had not been deceived, for the beacon gleamed through the window of the den I sought. I was within a rod of the place when a sudden terrible racket broke forth. The sound of loud and angry voices reached my ears, telling me beyond question that there was a commotion within. Knowing full well that while they were making all that racket the before-mentioned miscreants could not hear me, I dashed forward to the window, through which I peered, beholding a scene of strife and contention. The rascals were there; perhaps they had been there for half an hour or more while I was seeking to locate them. They had built a fire, and, by the light of an old kerosene lamp, I perceived that they had already engaged in a suitable diversion for such reprehensible characters. Briefly and concisely stated, they had been playing cards—for money.”

“I wonder where Spotty Davis got the money to play with?” muttered Sile Crane.

“There were cards scattered on the table before them, and I know I saw money also,” Piper declared, “Lander was wrought up to a white pitch of wrath. I give you my verbatim statement that I never saw a feller as mad as he was. From his angry words I instantly gathered that he had caught Davis cheating, and he was strenuously seeking to lay violent hands on the aforesaid Davis. Mr. Grant, of Texas, had interfered and was keeping them apart, though it was plain enough that Spotty wasn’t anxious to mix it up with Bunk. Just as I looked in Lander yelled at Grant to take his hands off, and when the last mentioned party failed to comply Bunk let him have a poke in the mug.”

“Oh, joy!” chortled Cooper. “That cooked Mr. Grant, didn’t it?”

“Cooked him!” exclaimed Piper. “It turned him into a raging whirlwind. Say, you should have seen him sail into Lander! Why, he had Bunk pinned up against the wall, shaking him like a rat, in less than two seconds. I never saw any human being as mad as Grant, and I give you my word he handled Bunk just like a feller might handle a baby.”

“Come, come!” scoffingly derided Barker, who had joined the group in time to hear part of this yarn. “What are you giving us, Sleuth? Why, that fellow wouldn’t fight, and, if he did spunk up enough courage to try it, Lander could whip him with one hand tied behind his back.”

“Don’t you believe it!” spluttered Sleuth. “I know better. I know what I saw, and he took the starch out of Bunk Lander in double quick order. He just fastened his hooks on Bunk’s woozle and choked him till his eyes stuck out, and I was beginning to think that would be the finish of the before-mentioned Lander. It was a tragic and terrifying spectacle. Davis was frightened into fits, and finally he rushed forward and tugged at Grant’s wrists, begging him to stop. Just as I was deciding that I had arrived in time to witness red-handed murder, Grant suddenly seemed to come to his senses; he let go of Lander, who dropped in a heap, as limp as a rag, gasping for breath. Davis was crying by this time; never saw anybody so frightened. Grant backed off a step or two, sort of shivering, his face pale as chalk. ‘Get some water, Spotty,’ says he. ‘I’m glad I didn’t kill him.’”

Barker laughed in his cold, sneering way. “You have a vivid imagination, Sleuth,” he said; “but you want to quit reading cheap novels.”

Piper resented this. “I’ve given you the plain, cold, unadulterated facts, Mr. Barker. I know what I saw.”

“Perhaps you dreamed it.”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“Perhaps you saw them playing cards, but this final sensational touch of your dramatic tale—this account of the fight—is preposterous. Grant wouldn’t any more dare buck up against Bunk Lander than against me.”

“Take my advice,” said Sleuth, “and don’t count on it too much that he wouldn’t dare tackle you.”

“Why, that has been proved to everybody’s satisfaction.”

“Not to mine since what I saw last night. I give you my word, I’d rather get a grizzly bear after me than that feller. Soon’s I saw Spotty getting a tin can to bring water, I sagely concluded it was time for me to move, and straightway I did so. I wasn’t nearly as long getting out of the swamp as I had been finding Lander’s camp.

“That’s the whole veracious narrative, faithfully given in the minutest detail. But let me add that the chap who wakes Rod Grant up and gets him real fighting mad is liable in less than ten seconds to find himself taken all to pieces and scattered over the immediate vicinity; I’ll stake my professional reputation on it.”