At the next street corner Rod hesitated a moment; then, instead of continuing toward his aunt’s house, he turned his steps in the opposite direction and soon arrived at the home of Spotty Davis. He saw and talked with Mr. Davis, who was over from the lower mill for the midday meal.

“My boy?” said Davis. “Oh, he’s gone to Belford.”

“Gone?” exclaimed Rod, surprised.

“Yes,” nodded the man; “I let him have the fare, and he took the mornin’ train.”

“When will he come back?”

“Dunno; mebbe he won’t come back. You see, he’s got some relatives over there, and his cousin Jim said he could git him a job in a machine shop. He ain’t never been much struck on work, but all of a sudden last night he took a notion he’d like to try it, and he wouldn’t let up on me till I give my consent. I guess mebbe ’twill do him good. He got into some kind of a fuss with the perfesser at the academy and was sent home. I cal’late he’s got about eddication enough, anyhow, for he never was no hand to study.”

“Belford,” muttered Grant. “How far is that?”

“Oh, ’bout sixty mile or so. Why, what’s the matter?”

“I would like to see Spotty and have a talk with him.”

“Ho! Well, that would be a master long distance to travel jest for a talk.”

“Spotty was sick yesterday morning when I called. He must have recovered right suddenly.”

“Oh, I guess he wa’n’t very sick; he jest wanted to lay in bed, that was all. I hope he’ll fall into good company in Belford, for the fellers he’s took up with ’round here ain’t done him no good.”

Rod shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile, bade the man good day, and turned away. So Spotty had left town suddenly and unexpectedly; this act seemed to confirm Grant in his suspicions regarding the fellow.

“He stole two dollars of my money,” muttered Rod, as he walked homeward, “and he stole my silk handkerchief also. It was Spotty who shot Barker’s dog, and either he lost the handkerchief afterward or became frightened and left it hanging on a bush in order to turn suspicion from himself. I sure hate to think that last, even of Spotty; but somehow I can’t help it, knowing he would reason it out that the condition of affairs between Barker and myself and the possible finding of the handkerchief would make it seem a sure thing that I did the shooting.”

Neither Barker nor Grant appeared at school that afternoon, Berlin remaining away because of his intense chagrin and shame, and Rod feeling himself too disturbed to study or appear in recitations. The boy from Texas knew his motives might be misconstrued, but he smiled grimly over the thought that any one should fancy that fear had anything to do with them.

School had closed for the day less than half an hour when Grant, chancing to look out, saw the sturdy figure of Ben Stone hurrying up the path toward Miss Kent’s house. The young Texan met Ben at the door.

“Come in,” he invited, and the invitation was readily accepted.

“You didn’t show up at the academy this afternoon,” said Ben when they were in Grant’s room.

“No; I had a reason for staying away, but you can reckon on it that I’ll be there to-morrow.”

“Something happened,” said Stone—“something I want to tell you about.”

“Go ahead; I’m listening.”

“Of course the fellows had lots to say about the way you did Barker up, but I didn’t come to talk about that.”

“For which I’m plenty thankful.”

“Something happened that gave a setback to the fellows who thought it was you that squealed about that hazing. Cooper, who is usually up to something, brought two live mice in a trap. Prof. Richardson is as scared of mice as any woman could be, and Chipper wanted to put them into the professor’s desk. Piper, who always seems to have a key to fit anything, had one that would unlock the desk. You know how Sleuth prides himself on his keen and searching eyes. Well, in the desk he discovered a letter that had been sent to the professor, and he recognized the handwriting on it. Of course he didn’t have any right to look at it, but he did just the same—he read it and kept it, too, to show to the fellows. It stirred up something sure enough, for it told all about that hazing and the breaking of the professor’s skeleton, giving the names of every fellow who took part in that piece of business. The writer of that letter reminded the professor of his promise to protect any one who should tell him the truth.”

“What a sneaking piece of business to do!” exclaimed Rod.

“It certainly was,” nodded Ben, “and I’ll guarantee Prof. Richardson regarded it in that light. Perhaps that’s one reason why he declined to pull all those fellows over the coals. You see, he’d been forced to jump on some that he plainly regards as his best scholars, and, as long as you made no complaint, he let it pass by handing out that lecture about hazing.”

“Which,” said Rod, “was sure enough straight dope. This hazing business, when it’s carried too far, as it is right often, certainly is all to the bad—as I have good reasons to know.”

“You haven’t asked who wrote that letter,” reminded Ben.

“I’m not right sure I want to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because I never could regard the squealer with an atom of respect. I don’t quite understand why he wrote it, either.”

“You know the professor threatened to probe into the matter and do his best to find out and punish the guilty parties.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I suppose the fellow who blowed was afraid some one else would do the same thing, and simply tried to make himself immune from punishment.”

“Likely that’s right.”

“Don’t you want to know who it was? It isn’t probable you can help finding out, for all the fellows know now, and some of them have told the sneak a few things.”

“I don’t opine,” laughed Rod, “they’ll break their necks hurrying to tell me.”

“Oh, there’s been a decided change of opinion about you. If it wasn’t for that dog-shooting affair, I believe you’d be surprised to find a great many chaps ready to become friendly.”

“What do you think about that dog shooting, Stone?”

“I’m dead sure you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Thanks. But of late even you have apparently been influenced by the rising tide of popular prejudice against one Rodney Grant.”

“No,” denied Ben—“no, indeed; but of late you have held yourself away from everybody. Why, you scarcely spoke to me when we met.”

“Being plenty unpopular,” said Rod, “I allowed I wouldn’t involve you. I was independent enough to believe I could paddle my own canoe. I’ve observed that about nine times out of ten things work themselves out if you let them alone. I’ll guarantee the truth concerning the shooting of Barker’s hound will be known in time.”

“I hope so, Rod, as that would come pretty near putting you fully and squarely right in Oakdale. Hunk Rollins’ letter has——”

“So it was Rollins,” said Rodney quietly. “Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“Yes, it was Rollins,” answered Stone, “and he’s certainly queered himself with everybody. He knows what the fellows think of him now, for nearly all of them have taken pains to tell him.”