's wound up, and
is now tickin' smooth and reg'lar," said the Cap'n, with deep
conviction. "They'll both get it!"

And they did.

Cap'n Aaron Sproul and Hiram Look shook hands on the news before nine
o'clock the next morning.

XIX

Mr. Loammi Crowther plodded up the road. Mr. Eleazar Bodge stumped
down the road.

They arrived at the gate of Cap'n Aaron Sproul, first selectman of
Smyrna, simultaneously.

Bathed in the benignancy of bland Indian summer, Cap'n Sproul and
his friend Hiram Look surveyed these arrivals from the porch of the
Sproul house.

At the gate, with some apprehensiveness, Mr. Bodge gave Mr. Crowther
precedence. As usual when returning from the deep woods, Mr. Crowther
was bringing a trophy. This time it was a three-legged lynx, which
sullenly squatted on its haunches and allowed itself to be dragged
through the dust by a rope tied into its collar.

"You needn't be the least mite afeard of that bobcat," protested Mr.
Crowther, cheerily; "he's a perfick pet, and wouldn't hurt the infant
in its cradle."

The cat rolled back its lips and snarled. Mr. Bodge retreated as
nimbly as a man with a peg-leg could be expected to move.

"I got him out of a trap and cured his leg, and he's turrible
grateful," continued Mr. Crowther.

But Mr. Bodge trembled even to his mat of red beard as he backed away.

"Him and me has got so's we're good friends, and I call him
Robert--Bob for short," explained the captor, wistfully.

"You call him off--that's what you call him," shouted Mr. Bodge. "I
hain't had one leg chawed off by a mowin'-machine to let a cust hyeny
chaw off the other. Git out of that gateway. I've got business here
with these gents."

"So've I," returned Mr. Crowther, meekly; and he went in, dragging
his friend.

"I done your arrunt," he announced to the Cap'n. "I cruised them
timberlands from Dan to Beersheby, and I'm ready to state facts and
figgers."

"Go ahead and state," commanded the Cap'n.

"I reckon it better be in private," advised the other, his pale-blue
eyes resting dubiously on Hiram.

"I ain't got no secrets from him," said the Cap'n, smartly. "Break
cargo!"

"You'll wish you heard it in private," persisted Mr. Crowther, with
deep meaning. "It ain't northin' you'll be proud of."

"I'll run along, I guess!" broke in the old showman. "It may be
something--"

"It ain't," snapped the Cap'n. "It's only about them timberlands that
my wife owned with her brother,