ong to your
breakfast."

As the boy ran off, Yetmore walked to the back of the building. Here
the scent was so strong that he was convinced the barrel must be
leaking, so, seizing hold of it, he gave a mighty heave, when the empty
barrel came away in his hands, as the saying is. He almost fell over.

To ascertain the nature of the leak was the work of a moment; to trail
the sled to Mrs. Appleby's back yard was the work of five minutes; but
having done this, Yetmore was at fault, for, knowing well enough that
neither the widow nor her son were capable of such an undertaking, he
was at a loss to imagine who the culprit might be.

It was only when Tom Connor a minute later stepped into the store and
arranged that story of the leaky oil-barrel which he had described as
being "agreeable" to Yetmore, that the storekeeper arrived at a true
understanding of the whole matter. To say that he was enraged would be
to put it too mildly, and, as always seems to be the case, the fact that
he, himself, had been in the wrong to begin with, only exasperated him
the more.

The result was what any one might have expected.

Hardly had Connor turned the corner out of sight, than there appeared,
"snooping" up the street, that sheep in wolfs clothing, Long John
Butterfield. Instantly Yetmore's resolution was taken. Seizing a broom,
he stepped outside and made pretense to sweep the sidewalk, and as Long
John, with a casual nod, sauntered past, the angry storekeeper caught
his eye and whispered:

"I've reconsidered. Go ahead."

"Bully for you," replied the other in a low tone; and passed on.

No one would have guessed that in that brief instant a criminal act had
been arranged. Nor did Tom Connor, as he went chuckling up the street,
guess that by his lawless recovery of the widow's property he had given
Yetmore the excuse he longed for to defy the law himself. Least of all
did any of them--not even Long John--guess that between them they were
to come within an ace of snuffing out the lives of two innocent
outsiders, namely, Joe Garnier and myself. Yet such was the case. It was
only the accidental putting in of Tom's second window that saved us.

Long John, being authorized to proceed, at once made his preparations,
which were simple enough, and all he wanted now was an opportunity. By
an unlooked-for chance, which, with his perverted sense of right and
wrong, seemed to him to be providential, his opportunity turned up that
very night.