road every week-day,--one day one way, and the next the other
way,--should not know a public-house like Dutton's.

"If I remember rightly," I said, "the stage used to stop there for the
passengers to take supper."

"Well, then, it ain't on this side o' the ridge," said the driver; "we
stop for supper, about a quarter of a mile on the other side, at Pete
Lowry's. Perhaps Dutton used to keep that place. Was it called the
'Ridge House'?"

I did not remember the name of the house, but I knew very well that it
was not on the other side of the ridge.

"Then," said the driver, "I'm sure I don't know where it is. But I've
only been on the road about a year, and your man may 'a' moved away
afore I come. But there ain't no tavern this side the ridge, arter ye
leave Delhi, and, that's nowhere's nigh the ridge."

There were a couple of farmers who were sitting by the driver, and who
had listened with considerable interest to this conversation. Presently,
one of them turned around to me and said:

"Is it Dave Dutton ye're askin' about?"

"Yes," I replied, "that's his name."

"Well, I think he's dead," said he.

At this, I began to feel uneasy, and I could see that my wife shared my
trouble.

Then the other farmer spoke up.

"I don't believe he's dead, Hiram," said he to his companion. "I heerd
of him this spring. He's got a sheep-farm on the other side o' the
mountain, and he's a livin' there. That's what I heerd, at any rate. But
he don't live on this road any more," he continued, turning to us. "He
used to keep tavern on this road, and the stages did used to stop fur
supper--or else dinner. I don't jist ree-collect which. But he don't
keep tavern on this road no more."

"Of course not," said his companion, "if he's a livin' over the
mountain. But I b'lieve he's dead."

I asked the other farmer if he knew how long it had been since Dutton
had left this part of the country.

"I don't know fur certain," he said, "but I know he was keeping tavern
here two year' ago, this fall, fur I came along here, myself, and
stopped there to git supper--or dinner, I don't jist ree-collect which."

It had been three years since our friend had boarded at Dutton's house.
There was no doubt that the man was not living at his old place now. My
wife and I now agreed that it was very foolish in us to come so far
without making more particular inquiries. But we had had an idea that a
man who had a place like Dutton's tavern would live th